The Dane and the Flame
by iguanablogger
Summary: Anders is a Danish sailor. He couldn't care less about the Borgia- until, during a pit-stop in Rome, they murder his father. Now Anders seeks revenge, and the Assassins can help. But how does one find the invisible?
1. Anders Larsson

The young man inhaled deeply as the wind spread its fingers through his hair, carrying with it the scent of sea and salt. He studied the crystal blue water as the boat slowly approached land, and decided that the Mediterranean was quite different from the oceans he knew back home. Everything about this strange country was new and different in some way; glancing up, he thought even the sky looked slightly changed. Bluer somehow.

But the point was that he didn't find it at all unpleasant. Taking another deep breath, filled with the smell he was accustoming to, he figured he might as well get used to Italy- as they may be here a while.

"Anders!" The boy jumped, relaxed demeanor shattering as he whirled around to face his father, nodding respectfully.

The man smiled, "Lost in thought again, eh?"

Anders bit his lip, but bashfully replied, "_Ja, Fader." _

He received a tired sigh, and a light rant…

"Normally, I would have no objection, _min son,_" He began sternly, "But this trip is an important one. I don't think you've ever been this far from home, have you?"

The boy made no response other than a dumb nod.

"In that case," The middle-aged sailor continued, "It would be worth your while to pay attention. As I always say-"

"I know, _Fader, _I know," Anders muttered, rolling his eyes, "No need to-"

"'Surprise has many distant relatives, but surprise and opportunity are twin brothers.'" He finished anyway, grinning. Anders covered his face with his palm and slowly allowed it to slide down.

"_Tak, Fader…_" He mumbled.

"_Mister _Larsson!" A call from the lower decks drew the attention of both father and son. Peering over the wooden railing, Anders noted the pier was much closer than where he left it- however it was not the pier addressing them.

"You are requested on the docks, _sir!" _The sailor explained, gesturing helpfully to the sweltering city of Rome. Anders' grey gaze fell on the rotting wood planks in distaste- not at the current upkeep of the area, but at the large amount of people who seemed anxious to greet their ship.

The young Dane did not usually delve in foreign affairs, and consequently knew nothing of Italy's current situation. He noted the men waiting at the pier seemed to be in uniform- all red, with a bull insignia painted lavishly on their white capes. Judging by the armor and weapons they carried, he surmised they were not average traders.

"If you'll excuse me, son," A clap on his shoulder shook the boy from his thoughts, "It appears I'm needed elsewhere."

"Of course, _Fader,_" Anders said softly, as at that point his father was already out of hearing range. He blew a tuft of light hair out of his eyes, slightly irritated as he moved further down the boat. While normally, he didn't leave the ship until after all the goods had been moved off, curiosity got the best of him. From a vantage point securely hidden from his father's eye, and the eyes of those he approached, Anders watched the scene anxiously.

A man wrapped completely in gleaming silver armor took a step towards the Danish sailor. A scarlet plume flew from his helmet, something Anders would have found quite amusing were he younger. The Italian held a piece of parchment, and was watching it skeptically.

"_Messer _Hans Larsson?" He read, expressing difficulty with so few vowels in a name.

"_Sono Io,_" The father replied, with equal difficulty. Anders frowned at the smooth, unfamiliar language the two began to converse in.

"_Sembra che abbiamo un problema,_" The guard cleared his throat- and that was all Anders could make sense of before he began to spout at such a fast rate his words seemed to collide and diffuse each other. From the puzzled expression on his father's face, Anders assumed he was having difficulties as well.

The stranger's tone remained flat as his last paragraph came to a halt. He folded the parchment and glared at Hans accusingly- obviously expecting him to say something.

"_Non capisco,_" The sailor began edgily, shifting his weight, "_Io non transportare oggeti per gli Assassini._"

Anders could only guess at what his father had said, but it did not seem to make the guards any happier. He detected hostility in the captain's response:

"_Tu li trasformeremo in o subirne le consguenze._"

Anders tensed as he watched the men approach his father in a manner that was clearly meant to be intimidating. His grey eyes widened as their gloved hands hovered over their sword pommels. However, the Danish sailor only folded his arms and glared down at the Italian defiantly.

"_Come ho detto,_" He said slowly, and Anders' heart swelled with pride at the bold claim even if he didn't understand it, "_Non sto portando articoli per gli Assassini." _

There was an anxious silence as the two men summed each other up, both unwilling to budge. Finally, the bull-caped guard spoke:

"_Allora sei in arresto._" He said loudly. The blood left Anders' face as he saw the patrol group unsheathe their weapons solemnly.

There was hardly time for his father to rip out his dagger before the first blows came. Anders' stomach dropped when his eyes fell on the deck railing, where the sailor's sword still sat, leaning against the wood casually.

Not sparing another moment to think, the Dane flew across the boat, snatching the heavy iron before calling to his father:

"_Fader, _your sword!" He yelled, costing the man valuable seconds as he turned to catch the thrown weapon.

Anders whipped around, remembering his sword was still in his cabin. He knew his father wouldn't last long- but already he saw two or three sailors moving to help him, enraged at the sight on the pier. The Dane burst through the thin cabin door and raced down the slippery steps. Stumbling down the narrow hallway, he finally made it to his closet of a room, about to yank the small sword from his cot when-

"Stop right there, _figlio_." A voice growled and Anders choked on the arm that pulled him back, constricting his windpipe. The tall teenager found himself pressed against someone very strong, and something cold tickled his throat.

"Who are you-?" Anders coughed, struggling.

"A man looking to make a profit," He responded carefully, and tightened his grip on the squirming Dane. "You're the captain's son, aren't you?"

The voice seemed oddly familiar- with shock, Anders realized the man was the same one who had called on his father earlier- he was a sailor.

"You know something!" Anders tried to sound accusing, but each breath brought less and less air, "You know about the ambush! Who's behind it?"

There was a dry laugh in response, "I don't think you're in a very good position to be asking questions, boy."

Anders growled in frustration, but then picked up his foot and brutally slammed his reinforced heel into his captor's toes. The sailor gasped and his grip slackened enough for Anders to shove an elbow into his stomach and break free. He fell on his cot, clumsily grabbing his sword. He jumped up, whirling around to receive a full blown punch to the nose.

A loud crack rippled the air and Anders staggered, dazed- his eyes glassing over a moment with many stars. In aggravation, the sailor grabbed his shirt collar and tossed him out of the room. The jolt of hitting the cabin wall awoke him, and he became aware of the blood spilling over his face and clothing. He also realized he had dropped his sword.

In terror, he looked up to find his assailant holding the weapon menacingly.

"They'll pay the same for you dead or alive, _bambino,_" he muttered warningly, "Do as I say, and I'll think about it some more."

Anders allowed himself to be jerked to his feet and dragged up the stairs, into the sparkling sunlight. His nose throbbed and stung at the same time, and he tried to cover it only to be disgusted at the feel of the mangled flesh.

There was a thud as he was dropped on the pier, getting a much closer look than he preferred at the rotting wood.

"…Anders…?" The voice was raspy, and he looked up to find his father's face just inches from his own. Horror spread through him as he studied the man's broken form. His right eye half-shut and blue, a gash tearing violently through his left side, His arms twisted and shattered…

Anders gaze was taken away by the loud crunch of a boot, right by his ear. He turned, glaring at the Italian guard with fierce hatred as he began to speak to the traitor rapidly. After a few moments, the sailor announced:

"Hans Larsson," He spoke in Danish, a bitter relief, "Your ship has been confiscated by Captain Marcello Cheorso de'Borgia. You have resisted the power of the church and stand accused of heresy."

"_Fader, _I don't-" Anders began weakly, but his father quickly hushed him, his expression stone cold.

"You will be imprisoned until executed at the _Piazza del popolo._"

"And what of my son?" He said clearly, spitting some blood on the deck.

"That remains to be seen," The sailor replied, toying carelessly with his blade.

"_Prendetelo, ora!" _The Borgia snapped, and the two were jostled back up. Confusion made him lightheaded as Anders was tied at the wrists and escorted from the boat- none of him understood what had happened. Executed? Who were these people? The biggest, glaring point he could not begin to comprehend was _why? _

Citizens stared as the group paraded down the streets of Rome- conversations stopped and the vendors' tirades dried up at the sight of them. Only a few moments had passed when-

"Father," Anders said shakily, "I'm not going to let them do this to us."

"Anders, what are you-?"

Using strength he had hidden from his enemies, Anders broke free of his escort and bolted, heading for the nearest alley.

"_Fermarlo!" _The enraged exclamation meant nothing to the young man as an arrow wedged itself in the bricks not a hair to his right. He heard footsteps pounding behind him, and had just rounded a corner when something struck his leg.

Anders cried out in pain and sunk to one knee, staring at the second arrow that had hit its mark. Blood was already spurting onto the dirt path, and agony clung to his leg, burning hot.

Chomping down on his lip, he tried to stand, to keep running- but someone grabbed him.

"I've had enough trouble out of you!" It was the same sailor yet again- only this time he didn't seem as patient. Anders turned to face him, eyes wide with pain and shock.

"They're going to kill you eventually, anyway!" The man huffed, unsheathing a different, more expensive sword with an emblem Anders did not recognize, "Might as well get it over with sooner than later!"

The first blow was wider than he expected- Ander leapt back, but not enough to stop the blade from grazing his forehead. A red slash appeared above his right eye, and it stung as though cut by ice winds. Anders hissed, drawing back with a hand covering his bleeding head. When the next arc came, he ducked to the left, adrenaline fueling his mad dash to the street.

He burst out of the alley and into a buzzing crowd. A group of ladies gasped as they lay eyes on him, and one of them shrieked- alerting his pursuer and crashing any hope he had of blending (Not that it would've worked very well anyway).

Anders kept running, plowing through herds of people and taking every sharp turn he could find. His vision was blurring, and breathing was becoming his primary concern. Sound slowly vanished until the only thing he heard was the pounding of his own heart- fast and desperate.

The young sailor ran until he simply couldn't anymore. From what he could make of his surroundings, he found himself somewhere on a walkway near a river, lined with gondolas. He stumbled, throwing his weight against the wall for support. He limped down the path with his hands gripping the stones weakly, until he spotted a shaded area behind one of the many buildings.

Making one last effort, he lunged at the space, hitting the wall solidly and sliding down it, drifting into oblivion.


	2. Fiametta Trietti

"…You're such a slowpoke, Fia!" The young man laughed, panting as he easily cleared the distance between the two rooftops, "I don't know why I bother with you!"

"Shut up, Lorenzo!" The hooded girl huffed, gasping as she nearly tripped again.

Deciding that caution was the better idea, the novice slowed her pace and doubled up, wheezing. She'd been running out on the sweltering rooftops for hours, part of her older brother's new 'training program'. After drawing a few more breaths into her hoarse lungs, she glanced up at said brother, who was approaching her with a large grin. Rolling her eyes, she simply went back to being pathetic.

"Honestly, Fia," Lorenzo sighed, appearing only slightly tired after the long sprint, "If you don't start manning-up, you're going to make a terrible Assassin."

"You probably haven't noticed, idiot," She panted, "But I'm not a man."

"True," Her brother nodded, stroking his chin and the thin goatee he was so proud of, "But I'm sure with a little more effort, you can feel almost as fit as one."

Fiametta snorted and plopped herself down on the roof's searing tiles, tilting her head back to stare at the infinite blue sky. She pulled her hood back, pushed her ebony hair away from her forehead, and allowed her tense body to relax.

Lorenzo watched with distaste. After a few moments, he shifted his weight and crossed his arms, frowning down at the form of his crippled sister.

"How long do you plan to stay like that?" He asked flatly.

"You'd better return to Tiber Island without me." She replied simply, not giving her brother a second thought.

He nodded, "Alright, but I'll be close by if you need me."

Fia used her precious energy to send him a curious eyebrow raise, "And why would I need you so suddenly?"

Lorenzo shrugged, "You may not- but I still have to pick up a message for Master Machiavelli, and the pigeon coop is near here."

"You pick up messages for Master Machiavelli?" Fia exclaimed with wide eyes and a dropped jaw, "Do you deliver them to him_ in person?" _She had long idolized the author/Assassin, and found it hard to believe her brother had personal contact with him. "You're pulling my leg!"

"Am not," Lorenzo smiled, pulling his hood mischievously over his eyes as he set off, "See you, little sister."

Fiametta huffed irritably and sat up. She'd never get any peace with that man.

After taking a few extra moments to rest, she decided it'd be best to start her journey to Tiber Island, if she wanted to make it there before sunset. However she also elected to take the streets home. She related bitterly as she slid down a nearby ladder that she never wanted to see another rooftop again.

Fia edged about nervously as a group of Borgia soldiers passed her, giving her a dark stare. Absently, she smoothed the material of her novice robes and pulled the rim of the fabric lower over her legs. It'd only been recently she'd made the change from wearing dresses to pants, and often Master Ezio found it better she remain undercover. She recalled how he had grinned at her and remarked how she had the face of a noblewoman- enough so to fool the Templars. It wasn't uncommon for her to don an average dress and walk through Roma, picking up tidbits of information. Although that just made the Assassin robes more awkward- she became quite nervous whenever she passed a patrol…

Tired as she was, Fiametta nearly didn't notice when her heavily-sore foot splashed in an abnormal looking puddle. Pausing, she bent down warily to examine what had happened- she'd stepped in manure before, and she had no interest in doing so again. However, this didn't seem to be any puddle of the solid sort- in fact, the liquid seemed quite congealed, and red in color. Wine, perhaps?

Fia ran a gloved finger over it. As she did so, she noticed a metallic smell wafting from the puddle. Tensing, she realized it was probably blood. With narrow eyes, she noted that the puddle wasn't just that- there seemed to be a trail of blood winding around the street and leading around a corner. Cautiously, she began to follow it.

Now and then, she would notice a tattered piece of clothing along the track. This only worried her further- by the time she had nearly reached the end, she encountered several bloody handprints on the stones of the nearest building. At that point she wasn't certain she wanted to reach the trail's conclusion.

However, curiosity compelled her to continue- and so she did. But when she finally discovered the source of the crimson fluid, dread and horror took hold.

Propped up weakly against the wall lay the body of a young man. He looked to be just over sixteen, not yet an adult, but not a child. She could tell from his features, however mangled, that he was not Italian- blonde hair, braided, pale skin- and he was quite a tall man. But she had little time to spend looking over these details.

His entire lower jaw was smothered in blood, stemming from his nose. The appendage was brutally twisted; Fia cringed just looking at it. His forehead was sliced like carrots in a soup, although none of it seemed lasting except the gash above his right eye.

Finally, his left leg was skewered on an arrow barb, and blood was calmly pooled onto the floor around it. From the stiffness of his bloodied clothes, Fia could tell he had been sitting for some time.

Fearfully, the novice gulped and scurried over to him, taking his pulse with shaking fingers. She sighed in relief- he was alive, but barely. Her mind numbed when she realized she had no idea what to do next: here she had found the mutilated body of a citizen, and she hadn't a clue how to take care of him. Heart racing, she tried the first idea that surfaced:

"L-Lorenzo!" She called, her voice shaking. She climbed to her feet and cupped her hands around her mouth, trying to throw the sound of her voice: "Lorenzo!" Fia could only pray her brother would arrive in time.

A small cough drew her attention and panicked blue eyes fastened on the man's gored face. She watched as his grey orbs squinted open, and he tried to speak:

"_H-hvrem…?" _he croaked, spitting more blood onto his shirt. Fia found it hard to believe there was any left in his body, "_hvrem er du…?" _

The novice bit her lip, but drew closer to the wounded foreigner. She kneeled beside him and grasped his broad shoulders with her hands.

"Listen," she began shakily, "I don't know who you are, or where you're from, but you need to stay awake!" She didn't fully understand why this was important, but it was the only instructions she had received on this type of situation. She swallowed, "Don't pass out on me!"

His eyelids fluttered and a smile slowly broke out on his beaten features. Incomprehension was evident in his eyes.

"_…En engel…?" _he whispered as his glassy vision took in her face- she barely heard him, "…_Er du en engel…?"_

It was hopeless. She couldn't understand a word he muttered- she couldn't even recognize the language. Panic sparked within her as she watched his eyes beginning to roll and his shoulders relax in her grip.

"H-Hey!" She yelled, shaking him, "If you go to sleep again, you won't wake up!"

"Fia?" Relief flooded the novice as she recognized her brother's voice behind her, "What's wrong? Who—My God…"

She turned and watched Lorenzo's eyes widen at the gory scene.

"Lorenzo, you've gotta help me," She stammered, "I-I don't know what to do. I was just walking home a-and I just…" She paused, turning back to the body, "Just…found him…" she finished weakly.

"Who is he?" Lorenzo asked as he quickly moved to her side, taking the man's pulse and temperature.

Fia shook her head, biting her lip, "I don't know," she replied, "He doesn't even speak Italian!"

"_…Hvad?" _The stranger coughed, stirring slowly as he became more aware of Lorenzo's presence, "_Hvad der sker…?" _

Lorenzo groaned, "You're right- I can't understand him at all."

"Well what do we do with him?" Fia cried, "I don't think he's got much time left!"

"We'll take him with us," Lorenzo reasoned calmly, "Master will know what to do."

"_Hej…_" The foreigner said, struggling faintly as Lorenzo hoisted him up, "_Hvad laver du?" _

"Take his other arm, Fia," Lorenzo instructed, shifting the stranger's weight on his back, "We'll lead him through the alleys. Tiber Island isn't that far from here."

"Okay," Fia gulped, and the two began carrying/dragging the paralyzed man towards their hideout. "What should I do if he passes out again?"

"There's not much you can do," Lorenzo grunted, "Try to keep him awake as long as you can- if he slips under, we won't be able to bring him back."

"So basically, he'll die?" Fia asked in horror.

"Less talking, more carrying, sister!" Lorenzo snapped.

"_Hej!" _The man panted, his breath ragged from the exertion of staying conscious, "_Lad mig ga! Hjaep!" _

"Yeah, yeah," Lorenzo muttered, "Good afternoon to you, too."

"At least it means he isn't dead," Fiametta pointed out kindly.

After several minutes of trudging and the stranger's incoherent babbling, the towers of the hideout were in sight. All that was left was to make it across the street and through the door. It was at this time the injured man began to give up his struggle.

"Lorenzo?" Fia huffed as they neared the door, "He's not doing so well…"

"We're almost there, Fia," Lorenzo replied, "Master will know what to do- everything is going to be fine."

Upon entering the hideout, they were greeted by Silvestro, another Assassin. Despite only meeting him a week ago, the man was eager to help the siblings and aided them in their effort to carry the man to the center room.

"Fia, go get Ezio!" Lorenzo said loudly as they cleared off the table for immediate operation. Fiametta nodded violently and rocketed down the halls, still scarred from discovering the battered body.

She found Sir Ezio in the meeting room with his sister, Miss Claudia. After bursting into the room and interrupted whatever important conversation was taking place therein, Fiametta collapsed onto the ground, wheezing.

"Master!" She panted, "Lorenzo needs you in the main room right away!"

At first it was amusement that played in the Master Assassin's eyes. But when he saw his student's panic stricken face, he sobered up.

"I am coming," he said, then turned to his sister. "Claudia, we shall resume this later."

"Of course," she nodded and allowed him to pass as he strode swiftly down the hall, offering Fiametta a hand up as he went. She took it graciously and joined him on the way to the center room. She had to jog to keep up, but most of her was in awe to be accompanying someone as esteemed as Master Ezio Auditore. Lorenzo often teased her for having too many heroes, but Fia didn't see the problem with that.

When they arrived in the central room of the hideout, Lorenzo rushed them, immensely relieved to find his master.

"Master," He said breathlessly, bowing. Then he proceeded to lead the Assassin to where the stranger was spread out on a table, "We've managed to move him to a stable area, but he's lost a lot of blood and-" Ezio silenced him.

"Don't worry," He said clearly, placing a hand on the young trainee's shoulder, "You've done a good job, my student. I'll take it from here, but I made yet require more of your help."

Lorenzo nodded firmly, and spoke; "We've already taken out the medical supplies-"

"Good," Ezio said, "There is a doctor near the hideout- he knows of our Order. Bring him here, quickly."

"Yes, master." And with that Lorenzo departed swiftly.

Ezio and Fiametta approached the table, where Silvestro was working on the man's face with a damp cloth. Fia was quite concerned at the amount of red pigment that stained the rag already.

"Master," Silvestro greeted him with a bow of the head, "As you can see, the boy is not in the best of conditions."

"Do you have any idea who he is?" Ezio asked.

Silvestro shrugged faintly and gestured to the younger novice, "Ask Fiametta- she found him."

Ezio turned to her, determined.

"Where did you find him?"

"In an alley," Fia gulped, "I found him by…" She gulped, pushing down the nausea of the disturbing memory, "…following a trail of his own blood."

"Was he alone?"

"Yes," She replied solemnly.

With the official inquiry over, her master's eyes softened.

"You have never seen something like this before, have you, Fia?" He phrased the question as a statement. The young novice made no reply. "Are you-"

"I'm fine," Fia cut in, looking away. Ezio decided not to press the matter. Time was of the essence, and as soon as Lorenzo returned with the alarmed-looking doctor, they began the battle to save the boy's life.


	3. Introductions

Dry and gummy. What Anders wanted to know was how could his eyes feel bone dry, yet sticky as gelatin instantaneously?

By the time consciousness had set in, he didn't even want to try opening them. Having lived on a boat for a large portion of his life, Anders had heard chilling tales of hangovers and the horrors they wrought. However it was slowly occurring to the sailor that alcohol may not be entirely responsible for his current state of agony. Had he gone through the trouble of lifting his lead-based hand to his face, he would have discovered multiple bandages there- one securely fastened to his nose, the other wrapped around his head like an enormous bonnet. And yet somehow, his eyes still managed to hurt.

So, he asked himself, what now? He'd already made it clear to himself that revealing his grey irises to the world would immediately make him sorry. In fact he was so busy trying to fall back asleep that he noticed he was in a bed. Not a particularly nice bed, but a bed nonetheless. Why was he in a bed? He didn't even _own _a bed. He slept on a cot. When did father buy a bed for the boat?

Now he was getting worried. Anders had noticed that the room was not tilting, swaying, or moving in any way. He couldn't hear the spray of the water just a plank's thickness from his ear. And the tell-tale shuffling of sailors' boots was mysteriously absent.

Despite his earlier pledge not to return to the world of the living, Anders had to know what had happened. Why wasn't he on the boat?

And so Anders was compelled to open his eyes, executing one of the worst mistakes of his life.

"Ahhh," He moaned as he consciously ordered his eyelids to move upward. He never realized before how much effort it takes to merely blink, how many muscles one must manipulate. Ironically, the effort was tiring.

As soon as he succeeded in lifting the thick and gritty eyelids, he had to deal with light. Sunlight impaled him head on, as he had found himself situated beside a window. Who sleeps next to a window? That was all he wanted to ask as the knives drove themselves through his skull. He groaned louder. Blink, Anders, he steeled himself, just keep blinking.

"_Lorenzo! Egli si sposta!_" The female cry was far too loud for his ears. It stung almost as badly as his eyes. What's worse, it came from the same room as his. "_Creda che sia sveglio!" _

As Anders continued to adjust his vision, he found himself growing more and more curious of these foreigners and their smooth, silky language. For the second time, he wished he understood it.

Wait. Second time?

"_Sei sicura?" _Another voice, male and approaching, replied incredulously. Slowly, the Dane's line of sight leveled out, and he got his first glimpse at his rescuers.

A young woman with blue eyes and dark hair sat at his bedside, wearing an amazed expression and an interesting grey tunic. Walking steadily across the room before seating himself beside her was another figure, a young man with light hair, a thin goatee, and grey eyes. This new stranger was watching Anders with careful scrutiny.

"Um," Anders began hoarsely, "Hi."

The girl smiled at him.

"Can…Can either one of you tell me where I am?"

Apparently the question was too much. The two Italians exchanged nervous glances and nodded widely at him.

"Oh good," Anders said, sighing in relief. "So-"

The older boy cut him off with an anxious whisper to his companion, "_Fia, vai a prendere Maestro._"

She frowned at him and responded, just as quietly, "_farlo da soli._"

"_Fia-!" _He replied through gritted teeth.

"Hey!" Anders hated to be rude, but he was feeling quite left out, "I'm still here, you know. And I'm sort of confused. Would one of you happen to have seen my father, Hans-"

The moment Anders began to think of his guardian he paled considerably. Suddenly he knew what had happened- it all came rushing back. What stood out the most was the image of his father's bleeding and broken body, spitting crimson at the Borgia's boots.

"Oh no." He nearly whispered, eyes going wide. He had to find him. He had to find Father before it was too late. The captain said they were to be executed.

"_Stai bene?" _The dark-haired girl asked him gently, drawing closer with fright in her eyes. He shook his head, the only part of his body that didn't seem to be composed of heavy metal, and bit his lip. How was he going to plan a rescue when he couldn't even communicate with these people?

"_Sai cosa? Gli parli," _The goateed boy muttered, sighing. He then stood and turned to exit the room, "_Vado a prendere Ezio me stesso._"

For a moment, she looked annoyed with him. She moved as though beginning to argue with her fellow, but he was already out the door and she decided not to bother.

Anders stared at her, and she met his gaze sheepishly. The Dane inhaled- somewhat painfully due to his injuries- and attempted to establish some sort of communication.

"So," He began, folding his hands in his lap, "What's your name?"

At first she frowned, trying to understand what it was he wanted. He could tell she was definitely thinking hard, but after a few more tense moments, she just smiled shyly at him.

"_Cominciamo con le basi," _The girl replied anxiously, looking down at her lap, then taking a deep breath as Anders had done. She lifted her gaze to his and said clearly: "_Mi chiama Fiametta." _

Anders stared blankly, waiting for the elaboration.

His visitor gave a brief tut of annoyance, then placed both hands on her chest and repeated: "_Me. Fiametta." _

A thought slowly began to trek its way across the foreigner's mind. She was trying to tell him her name. But was her name 'Me' or 'Fiametta'? Or perhaps it was 'Mefiametta'?

She shook herself and gave one last effort. Putting extreme emphasis on her gestures, she exclaimed: "_Fiametta! Il mio nome e Fiametta!" _

Anders was nearly certain now. The word 'Fiametta' had been redundant in several different sentences. He frowned, perplexed- no one had ever accused him of being good with languages, but he might just have an idea here…

"Fiametta…?" He asked, curiously playing with the name on his tongue. He decided it was a pretty one. "Your name is Fiametta?"

"_Si!" _Her expression suggested she wanted to leap into the air and sing, "_Si! Io sono Fiametta!" _She grinned.

It was then that the door creaked open and Anders got his first glimpse of Roma's master Assassin.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

In all truth, Ezio did not expect the boy to survive. He had lost far too much blood and far too much time. So it was quite a surprise to see him sitting up in bed, chatting calmly with his apprentice, Fiametta. Well actually, the conversation appeared more or less one-sided. Fia was blabbering away about how worried she was that he wouldn't recover and how horrified she was when she discovered him all alone, and he looked as though he wanted her to shut up just long enough for him to go back to sleep.

However everything stopped the moment he stepped into the room. Fia's conversation dried up and blew away, and the Dane's expression went from bored to surprised.

"That's him," Lorenzo pointed out helpfully as he pulled up a chair for Ezio to sit on, "He's been awake for about ten minutes now."

The master Assassin nodded and scooted himself closer to the bewildered sailor. While the doctor had been peeking at the boy's wounds, Ezio had done some checking in at the port. His investigation revealed that a boat had indeed docked from somewhere in northern Europe, but for some reason the captain had not registered upon arrival. Instead, the boat was listed as property of the Borgia, and it was under restriction to the public. Ezio thought he may have an idea as to what had caused the young man such injuries.

"Good day," Ezio began with a friendly greeting, "My name is Ezio Auditore da Firenze."

He paused, waiting for the stranger to identify himself. However instead of a name, he received a sideways glance.

Ezio hesitated before asking, "Do you speak Italian?"

The boy replied nervously, "_Jeg er ked af, men…" _the blonde stopped, grimacing, "_Jeg forstar ikke slet…" _

The Assassin shook his head, disappointed. It seemed he did not speak the local language, and the tongue he used instead was sharp and rough, confusing. However it did resemble a different language Ezio had stumbled upon once or twice in his life…

Suddenly filled with inspiration, Ezio asked, "_Sprechen sie Deutch?"_

The sailor's face lit up. Apparently, he had guessed correctly. When the boy nodded, Ezio stood and turned to his apprentices:

"Go get Leonardo," He ordered, puzzling them.

"Leonardo?" Fia repeated, "What can a painter do for us?"

Ezio grinned, "He is much more than a painter, Fia…" he fondly echoed the same words spoken to him years ago, "He's the only person I know of who might be able to communicate with this man."

"I'll get him, master," Lorenzo bowed lightly and left the room.

"_Sie sprechen Deutch?" _The sailor seemed anxious for Ezio's attention now that they could speak a common language, "_konnen sie mir sagen, wer du bist?" _

Ezio smiled nervously. He did not speak German, contrary to the belief he had instilled in the hopeful. Years back, Federico had taught him several German _sentences _he would be able to use to flirt with a group of travelling students, but he had never learned the language. In fact, it was a wonder he remembered the words at all. But if anyone could be fluent in several different tongues, German included, Leonardo would be among the most likely.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Anders was bewildered, but only slightly. He had established that the white-robed man could understand German, a language Anders himself had learned fluently at age six, but did not seem able to respond. And now he watched with curious grey eyes as yet another stranger appeared, even older than the last.

The man looked to be in his mid-fifties, but when Anders got a glimpse of his eyes he noted a certain quality that made the age dwindle. He wore a matching red artist's beret and cloak, a messy sage tunic, and a dusting of faded freckles. Anders waited patiently for the newcomer to take his seat and make himself comfortable.

After exchanging a few quick words with the white-robed man behind him, the artist turned around and spoke; "You speak German?" His voice was rusty and accented.

Anders nodded, finally happy to be understood, "Yes, most sailors do."

The old man smiled, "Then I believe introductions are in order. I," he gestured to himself, "am called Leonardo da Vinci. The man beside me is called Ezio Auditore, and the two who brought you here are Fiametta and Lorenzo Trietti."

The Dane's face pinched in confusion at the list of strange names, but quickly smoothed itself out.

"Nice to meet you, Leonardo," He replied, roughly pronouncing the 'r', "I am Anders Larsson, and I have some questions I would very much like to ask…"


	4. Blackmail

The inquiry went on for some time, perhaps half an hour. Leonardo did an acceptable job of explaining the situation to the young Dane, but Anders was still mildly confused. Once understood, all he really wanted to talk about was his father. When Anders brought it up, however, Leonardo assured him that Ezio (who Anders was slowly recognizing as a very respected figure) was looking into the matter, and that the imprisoned sailor would soon be released.

"The best thing you can do for your father now, Anders," Leonardo had told him moments after Ezio had left, "Is stay here and rest."

It had been at that moment that Leonardo had translated a comment from Fiametta, who Anders had failed to notice was still in the room, watching him with slight disinterest.

"And learn Italian as quickly as possible." He relayed.

"Could you help me with that?" Anders had asked, "I hate being unable to speak."

Leonardo had agreed and set to teaching the boy a simple list of words, but not an hour into the lesson the rush of awakening left him and Anders began to tire. The artist told him they would continue some other time, and stood. From the corner of his drooping eyelids, Anders watched Leonardo say something to Fia and then leave, closing the door silently behind him…

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

He awoke to an eerie sound. A sound he'd not heard very many times in his life- so few times, in fact, that it scared him:

Giggling.

What an unnatural sound, was Anders' opinion. He blinked rapidly and sat up, eager to identify the source of the disturbing noise. The first thing he recognized was Fia's dark hair and grey tunic. The second thing he recognized was that his room (or lack thereof) now had a much cozier atmosphere; a homely fire had been lit in the hearth and dusk darkened his window.

The third thing he recognized was that Fia was not alone.

There was another man (this one a complete stranger) in the room, speaking to the girl rather smoothly. Upon further examination, it was revealed that the newcomer did not wear the grey and white uniform that all other visitors had worn, and his cheeks were flushed. Anders would not have been surprised to learn that Fia's were the same.

The foreigner continued to watch, now with slightly skeptic eyes, as the couple laughed and proceeded to converse in Italian. It was their tones that really spoke to him, though- Fia's was bashful and modest, the man's (who looked much more like a boy, now that Anders looked again) was excited.

Suddenly, Fia gasped. Anders leaned forward a bit to see that while he had been analyzing their speech, Fia's companion had procured a piece of jewelry. Anders couldn't see much of it, but from the girl's reaction it was quite stunning. Anxiously, the sailor scooted a little further down his bed in order to peek, but his foot slipped with a soft 'thud' and the room's attention shifted.

The stranger's eyes widened at the sight of his battle-wounds and the blood left his face. In a horrified whisper, he said something to Fiametta.

"_Non ti preoccupate,_" Fia replied nonchalantly, causing some of the man's composure to return, "_Lui non parlo Italiano."_

"_Oh._" He said simply, although he still did not seem completely convinced. In fact, his ears were speedily turning into miniature radishes at the thought of a complete stranger watching him interact with his current girlfriend.

Fia was somewhat flustered by the lack of attention, "_Avanti," _She smirked at him, grabbing his collar and yanking him close enough for her to plant her lips solidly on his. The young man was pleasantly surprised by this and allowed her to proceed.

Anders however, had lost his interest and burrowed himself as far into the bed as possible, wishing fervently that the two would stop making so much noise.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

When Anders awoke near noon the next day, it was due to several voices in his room. Yawning and brushing the locks of silver blonde hair from his eyes, he sat up and examined his visitors. Ezio, Leonardo, and as usual, Fia and Lorenzo stood by in mid-discussion.

"…Have secured the location, and are awaiting my signal," Ezio was telling them, "If I leave now, I should be able to return here with Larsson in under three hours time."

"What about the boy?" Lorenzo asked, respectfully.

"I want you and Fia to stay here with him," Ezio replied, "Tell him his father is coming."

"He will doubtless want to come with you, Ezio." Leonardo warned him. Ezio grimaced- he had anticipated this as well.

"He is still too injured," The Master Assassin reasoned on his way to the door, "Keep him here."

"_Entschuldigen sie," _Anders cleared his throat tentatively, "Leonardo, _Was ist los?" _

Ezio used this opportunity to leave, closing the door solidly behind him. The siblings watched as Leonardo apologetically explained the situation to Anders in nearly-fluent German. Time went on, despite the entertainment level in the room dropping considerably. After what seemed like hours of jagged, roughly pronounced words and a long, emotion filled outburst from Anders, Lorenzo found himself bored.

"You know what," He told Fia quietly, "you stay here and guard the Danish kid. Make sure he doesn't go anywhere until Ezio gets back, okay?"

"While you do _what?" _Fiametta replied grumpily, upset at how much free time this stranger wound up leeching from her. However guilt softened her grimace when memories of his helpless, tattered body returned.

"While I be the elder brother that you respect, love, and obey," Lorenzo answered, smiling sweetly as he pulled the door open and slipped through. "_Addio, sorella mia." _

Fia folded her arms and sulked, her gaze resting on the two still conversing in German, despite the time gap widening considerably since Ezio's departure.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"I'm sorry, Anders," Leonardo said tiredly, and for what seemed like the fiftieth time that day, "Ezio only wants what's best for you."

Anders sighed. He couldn't convince Leonardo, no matter what he tried. The man would not give in, and the attempts at persuasion were starting to tire him. Still, the Dane rallied his forces for another try when knocks interrupted his charge-

"_Messer da Vinci," _A voice Anders did not recognize, deep and muffled, penetrated the room, _"Ce un messaggero per te sotto, ser._"

Anders looked to the painter questioningly.

"Excuse me, Anders," Leonardo said suddenly, pushing himself up out of his seat, "I have something to attend to. I won't be long."

The sailor nodded and allowed his companion to leave. However it wasn't until the door thunked behind him that Anders realized how alone he really was. Well, not counting Fiametta, who leaned against the wall with her hood pulled up around her face.

As Leonardo was not back within the next thirty seconds, Anders allowed his mind to return to the information the inventor had shared with him. His father was under Borgia lock and key, and was to be executed tomorrow morning, at daybreak. Leonardo had assured him that Ezio was doing his best to rescue the man, but doubt still lingered.

Yes, he had met the Master Assassin. And yes, Anders grudgingly admitted that he owed them for saving his life. But he still could not bring himself to sit idly while his father fought to survive.

But how could he possibly escape? His head was still tightly bandaged, (though Leonardo had explained previously that the long rolls of swathed cloth would come off within a few days) and his leg throbbed mysteriously when he applied pressure, making how long he could stand or run a variable.

He hadn't even accounted for Fia letting him through the door, yet. Wait…Fiametta…

Suddenly, an interesting idea began to swell in the young Dane's mind. Clearing his throat, he prepared himself to speak his very first words of Italian.

"Fi…" He began. The dark-haired girl's head bobbed up, as though he had startled her. "Fia…Fiametta!"

"_Si?" _She asked, hood falling back as she drew nearer to the bed in alarm. "_Si, si cosa?" _

"Fiametta." Anders repeated, proud of himself for getting it right. He lifted his eyes to face hers, staring into her worried expression flatly, "Leonardo."

"_Cosa?" _She said, tiny brows knitting together, "_Vuoi Leonardo?" _

He hoped desperately that she had caught on, "_…Si._" He replied, "Leonaaaaaaardo." Dragging out the last syllable for emphasis only made Fia more certain she had understood correctly.

"_Bene," _She nodded, whirling around, "_Aspetta qui!" _She said loudly as she ran out the door.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

This was probably one of the strangest things he'd ever done. And Leonardo could honestly say he'd done an AWFUL lot of strange things in all his fifty-two years. And he'd planned to do a whole lot more before he finally expired, there was no doubt there.

But translating a conversation between two teenagers from opposite sides of the continent had somehow dodged the list.

"Wait," He muttered, holding a hand up for Anders to pause. Leonardo blinked hard, shook himself, and squinted into the Dane's face, "_What _do you want me to ask her, again?"

"I know it sounds weird," Anders said, "But she'll know what I'm talking about. Just say it."

"Alright…" Leonardo took a deep breath and turned back to Fiametta boldly.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"He said _what?" _Fia spluttered indignantly, face already heating up to an unnatural shade of red. Her hands flew to her lips instinctively and she bit some nails despite the gloves impeding her.

Leonardo averted her glare awkwardly, "He…He said that you'd better do what he says or he'll tell Ezio about _him._"

"Who's _him?" _Fia asked almost cautiously.

Leonardo turned around and spoke for a few seconds with Anders. He then looked back at Fia and said as expressionlessly as he could muster: "The boy you were kissing in bed last night."

Anders noted in pure pleasure how the Italian girl's eyes went wide as saucers and, this was his favorite part, her face grew so red he was sure it would pop right off. Oh yes. She had gotten the message alright.

"That-!" She stammered, "He- It's-!"

Leonardo watched the girl self-destruct wishing desperately for another call out of the room, which Fia was currently supplying the heat for.

"This kid is a filthy liar!" Fiametta yelled as soon as she was able, "Carlo and I never slept together!"

The painter had no honest reply.

"And-And-And what does he even want me to _do, _anyway?"

Leonardo turned back to Anders, received a list of demands, and then translated:

"He says he wants to walk around the building," Leonardo clarified, "And he wants you to come."

"Why me?" Fia asked, forcing her heart rate to lower itself, "He can walk on his own, right?"

"He should be able to, at least with a crutch," Leonardo shrugged, "But even if he hadn't asked, I would tell you to go with him anyway. He's still recovering, and he may need your help balancing at first. And supervision is always nice."

"It's not…dangerous, for him? Or anything?"

"No, actually I would recommend it."

"Well…Okay then," Fiametta agreed tentatively, "I suppose I don't have any problems with _that…_I was really scared there."

"But Fiametta," Leonardo lowered his voice, despite knowing the other boy couldn't understand, "You must make sure he doesn't leave the hideout. I know he's probably using this as an excuse to try to find his father, and in his condition that could be fatal."

"W-what do you want me to do?" Fia asked, worried.

"Just make sure you can reign him in," The painter explained, "keep him under control and when he starts to tire, take him back here. Understood?"

"Yes, I think." Fia gulped and nodded.

Leonardo smiled, pleased to see the situation was in good hands, before facing Anders and resuming German conversation.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Leonardo left the room precisely fifteen minutes after the translation, feeling somewhat airy. Anders counted to ninety-nine, said a quick prayer, and spat twice before beckoning Fiametta to commence his plan…


	5. Escape

"Oh god," Fiametta gasped, catching her companion's arm as his leg gave out and he slipped forward, "Why did I let myself get involved?"

She appeared to be speaking to herself, as Anders had no reply for her. In fact, he wouldn't have one even if he had understood, because the pain in his leg was so intense he almost felt he would faint at any moment.

"Hey, are you alright?" Fia asked him, grip fastening around his bicep as she helped him regain control, "Are you alright, what's-your-name…?"

Anders recognized the word 'name' and not for the first time this conversation, muttered: "Anders."

"What?" Fia frowned, repeating the foreign word, "Andarẻ?"

"Anders." The Dane said, somewhat steadier this time.

"Andarẻ it is…" Fiametta exclaimed to her memory. Anders gave up and concentrated on taking his next few steps forward.

The two had left the hideout long ago and were now struggling through the streets, hoping to make it to the Borgia holding cells before it was too late. Anders had initiated his brilliant plan once he had gotten the hang of walking- limping, really. He had moved himself in front of the door he suspected led outside and grunted firmly to it. Fia had, as usual, been confused. When he had tried to open it, she'd protested with an onslaught of panicked Italian words, Anders only catching a few such as 'Leonardo', 'Ezio', 'your father', and 'no'. He had, very boldly, told her: "My father."

"What?" Fia had breathed.

"Fiametta." Anders said, "Want my father."

He did not completely understand her response, but it was clearly in the negative to his request. Anders had then approached her deliberately, and whispered in a sinister voice: "_Him. _Say Ezio about _him._"

The young Assassin apprentice went pale and thought for a few moments. After a long, hard stare from Anders that informed her he was not budging, she finally gave in. Fiametta agreed to accompany him to the area where she'd heard Ezio say Hans Larsson was being held.

And now, she realized, she was in even deeper trouble than she would've been if Ezio knew about her flings.

She was starting to regret having saved Anders life.

A muffled yelp brought her back to the present as she accidently stepped on the Dane's damaged foot.

"Sorry!" She squeaked, "Sorry!"

Anders nodded and tried to push the pain from his mind with a gulp, but it kept cropping up. His head had been pounding ever since he stepped outside, his eyes were roasting in their sockets, his arms still felt heavy and useless, and his leg was an erupting volcano of invisible blood. The only comfort he had was Fia's fingers on his forearm, gently guiding him forward.

As they carefully made their way deeper into Rome, Fiametta's mutterings began to diminish. At first she couldn't shut up about how stupid she was to be going along with this, and how harsh the consequences would certainly be and how it wasn't fair, but now she was subsiding. Either that, or Anders had finally succeeded in tuning her out. Whatever the case was, it surprised the Dane when she tugged on his arm and whispered something.

"There," Fia pointed to a squarish building indifferent to all those around it except for a white flag with a painted red bull. Anders turned to the girl and asked quietly:

"My father?" He'd hardly remembered the words. _Padre _as opposed to _Fader_…But he was getting the hang of it.

Fia nodded, biting her lip. Anders inhaled, using the extra oxygen to revitalize his healing body and proceeded onward. However he'd hardly taken two steps when a pair of hands grabbed him back.

"Hey, wait!" Fia hissed. At first Anders was confused, and a bit angry, but the young Assassin shoved something in his face that caused him to think otherwise.

The Dane took the ripped parchment in his hands. By its weathered state, he could tell the poster had been up for a few days now. While the alphabet was similar, he could only make out a few words- his name among them.

"See?" Fiametta said, "It's a wanted poster. God, how did I miss this? There must've been several on the way here!"

"Wanted…Poster?" Anders repeated warily, bandaged brows uniting in confusion.

"It means," Fia cleared up, despite her every word only vexing him further, "That the Borgia already have people after you. They're probably hoping to execute you alongside your father."

"Father?"

"Shh!" Fiametta hushed him suddenly, pressing her hand to his mouth and shoving him against a wall. As they waited there in shadow, a patrol of heavily armored men strode past them in a sonata of clinking and thumping. Red plumes flew from several of their helms. Anders recognized them with a deep loathing.

Fia waited until the patrol had passed before resuming, "I don't think you can go out there, Andarẻ."

"Father." Anders repeated like a dumb giant with a single, glorious cause.

"I know," Fia sighed, exasperated, "I know you miss your father. I miss mine too, sometimes. But you've got to leave this to Ezio! He's-"

"-No!" Anders interrupted, eyes going wide as he pointed to something in the crowd, "Father!"

"W-what?" Fiametta blinked and then turned to see what Anders had spotted. Indeed, there flew the white robes of her master, with a heavily bandaged man trailing him.

Anders took off into the dense stream of Italians, fighting to get to his parent. All the while he shouted, "Fader! Fader!"

"Anders?" A hoarse voice, closer than the Dane had realized, asked in complete shock.

"_Fader!" _Anders finally made it through, wrapping his broad arms around his father's trembling form, sinking into him. He could hardly believe it- too many times had he dreamt his father had not survived, had been left to bleed out by the Borgia. Yet here he was, sporting several lengths of cloth around his arms, middle, and leg, and struggling to support the weight of his son as they embraced. "_Jeg taenkte Jeg ville aldrig se dig igen!"_

"_Anders,_" Hans said softly, "_Jeg var sa bekymret…" _

Fiametta apologized to several pedestrians as she sprinted after Anders, trying desperately not to lose him. However the sight that met her eyes when she burst into the small circle was worth it to say the least. Tears welled in her eyes as she watched the father and son speak gently in Danish to each other, two men whose lives had almost been torn apart…

The circle grew larger, and Fiametta looked over the scene to catch eye-contact with her master. At first, Ezio smiled at her. Then, his features quickly morphed from relief, to fear, to anger.

"Oh no," Fia squeaked to herself as she watched her mentor approach with obvious fury.

"Fiametta Teresa Trietti!" He hissed, his already tall figure somehow growing higher, "What do you think you're doing here? And with the boy, no less!"

"Master, I can explain-!" The apprentice began shakily, but was silenced by a gloved hand.

"Shh," Ezio said suddenly, pausing for a moment. Then, he quickly turned back to the reunited Danes and grabbed Hans' arm. "Messer Larsson, we must leave. The guards have spotted us."

Hans nodded, pale blue eyes looking the Italian over with newfound respect, "Lead the way, Sir Auditore."

However they'd hardly moved a few feet before an abrupt shout disturbed them.

"That's him! I see him!"

A second passed before another exclamation stopped the hearts of all four outlaws:

"Guards! Guards! Assassins!"

"Fiametta, take Hans and run!" Ezio ordered quickly, pulling out his sword as shrieks of terror sounded from the dispersing crowd. The earlier patrol had been summoned and was already advancing with weapons drawn.

"Master-!" The apprentice cried, panic gripping her almost as easily as it had seized the people.

"I will stop them from following you," The Master Assassin said, catching Fiametta's shoulder with his hand and staring into her horrified expression. He forced her to relax in those few seconds, to look at nothing but his calming brown eyes. "Take Hans and Anders back to Isola Tiberina. Let no harm come to them. Do you understand?"

Fiametta nodded solemnly, a strange serenity rolling over her- it was as if the world around them had disappeared. Fiametta Trietti, novice, had just accepted her first mission.

"Good. Now go!"

And with that simple command, the outside world returned. And what a world it was- the guards had all but surrounded them and the crowd was thinning rapidly, their disguise falling to the ground. The screams of hatred and fear tugged at Fia's heart, urged her to panic and run alongside them, but they were dispelled by Ezio's calm words. She had a mission, and she intended to carry it out.

"Andarẻ!" She called, drawing the Danes' attention. She motioned for the two to follow her quickly and they did so, father and son supporting each other.

"_Anders, du fjols,_" Hans rasped out as they ran, "_du burde ikke vaera kommet!" _

_ "Jeg er ked af, Fader," _Anders replied, trying hard to ignore the burning sensation in his leg and the dark folds in his vision.

"Hey, no time for that, guys!" Fiametta interrupted them, pulling her knife from her sash and urging them to run faster. They'd managed to escape the trap while Ezio fought off the patrols, but how long of a head-start they had was hard to say. "I know you haven't seen each other in a while, but-"

"Excuse me," Hans breathed, shifting more of Anders' weight onto him as he noticed the boy's strength failing, "Who are you? Ezio explained to me, but-"

"I'm not important right now," Fia told him, "Now stop talking and run!"

Hans did as he was instructed.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Anders didn't know how long they ran for. At first he was completely aware; he knew the Borgia were coming after them, he knew that Ezio was holding them off, with possible injury to himself, and he knew that they were in terrible danger. That was why he ran, despite his body's anguished protests.

But soon after they had fled the scene, his senses dropped out on him one by one. He thought he had been supporting his father, but it soon became clear the exact opposite was true. After minutes, hours, possibly days of running, the Dane's leg finally snapped. Anders hadn't even felt it. One moment he was running, the next he was on the ground, staring wide-eyed into darkness.

"Anders!" His father's cry sounded far off, as though he were down the street instead of right beside him. Fiametta's high voice said something, but Anders couldn't hear it. It was just a buzzing, a light, comforting buzzing. He felt something hard against his back and slowly the darkness receded. He was staring into Hans' bandaged face.

"Anders, are you alright?" He asked slowly and clearly.

Ander nodded and swallowed, "I'm sorry, father."

"You stupid, stupid boy…" Hans sighed, apparently speaking more to himself than to Anders, "Why did you come here… Why didn't you wait, as you were told?"

"I-" The sailor tried to justify himself but no answer came. Instead of thinking of a reply, Anders panted and willed the vomit in his throat to stay down. The older Dane looked more exhausted than ever as he sat beside his son, huddling closer to the wall. Now that Anders had the time to look, he noticed that they were in a narrow street, deserted. The width was that of two horses stuffed side-by-side, although it was not uncomfortable.

Anders took note as Hans switched languages, paying close attention to the words he used as he interacted with their Assassin companion. "What did you say your name was?"

The girl drew closer, eyeing Anders worriedly, "Fiametta."

"Fiametta," Hans repeated, nodding. He looked up at her in respect, "Thank you, Fiametta, for taking care of my son."

"But I didn't-" Fia began, brows knitting in confusion.

"-It's alright," Hans interrupted softly, "I know. I just want to thank you."

"Okay," Fia mumbled, glancing at her boots for a moment. She then curiously looked up and asked, "Messer Larsson, do you have a weapon with you?"

The man nodded and raised a rusty sword from the ground, "Ezio managed to grab this on our way out."

"Good," Fia said, "We're not far from the hideout. I'm going to run back and get help, alright?"

Hans nodded again.

"Just-Just stay here," She instructed, slightly louder as she began to back away, "Take care of Andarẻ. I'll be right back!"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Fiametta had been gone for roughly five minutes. Anders had daintily attempted to rise to his feet, but his father had stopped him.

"Don't make things worse," He'd warned, "It's bad enough you walked all the way here without a crutch."

"I had a crutch," Anders reasoned weakly.

Hans raised an eyebrow, daring him to continue.

"…Fiametta helped me." He finished.

"She's a nice girl, isn't she?" Hans began with a grin Mrs. Larsson had dubbed 'The Trouble Grin'. "Are you-"

"Father!" Anders interrupted indignantly, blushing. He didn't need this right now; and yet maybe he did. It felt like eternity since his father had last teased him, even if it had only been a few days ago. They'd been separated for so long…Denmark seemed a lifetime away.

Hans got the message and backed off, allowing his son a few moments to cool down. Anders bit his lip, then raised his grey eyes to his father and asked quietly:

"Father, how are we going to get out of this…?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean how are we getting home." Anders said finally, concern and sadness weighing his tone, "How will we tell mother and the girls what's wrong? They'll be expecting us next week."

"And we will be home next week," Hans assured him, "What's the problem? Yes, this is a minor setback, but you know what I always say, Anders…"

Although the sailor's son despised the maxim with all his heart, he did not prevent his father from finishing it.

"Surprise has many relatives, but surprise and opportunity are twin brothers," Hans smiled, "You never know what might come out of this trip."

Somehow, Anders did not seem convinced. After a few more moments of silence, Hans sighed and switched tactics.

"Look, _min son." _He began, "It's not that difficult. That nice girl will be back in a few minutes and we'll be safe. Then, once everything calms down, we can head back to port and charter a ship for home." He paused, licking his lips.

"We'll be a few days late, yes, but your mother will understand. She knows there's risk involved when you marry a sailor."

Anders looked away stubbornly and folded his arms. Hans shook his head and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"It's going to be alright, Anders."

Before the conversation could continue, the Danes' attention was drawn to a pair of footsteps approaching from the alley's opposite end.

"Fiametta…?" Hans whispered to himself, carefully climbing to his feet. But the footsteps were armored, and far too heavy to belong to a young woman. They were slow and deliberate.

"Father, I don't like this," Anders tried to tell the older sailor, but he was quickly silenced. Hans motioned for him to stay down as he moved slowly forward, sword in arm.

With trepidation, Anders watched as the owner of the footsteps made himself known. An incredible sinking feeling settled in the boy's stomach as he recognized the red plume and cape of a Borgia captain. The captain did not seem in as good a shape as the last time they'd met on the pier, but he was still formidable. Ordinarily Hans would've been able to toss the man around like a doll, but in his current condition it was all he could do to lift his sword.

"Messer Larsson," The captain cleared his throat, but his voice remained raspy, "You will surrender to me or be killed where you stand."

"Why are you doing this to me and my family?" Hans asked simply, shifting to the left in hope that the enemy had not seen Anders yet.

"It's not that unusual, actually," The man replied, dropping all formalities as he took a few steps nearer. He was close enough for Anders to see the details of his skin and the thickness of his dark beard. "I wanted your cargo. It was valuable. A wiser man would have given it up, but I was warned you northerners could be quite stubborn…"

Anders bit his lip, attempting yet again to get up. But he was stopped by his father's foot and made no move to proceed. His pulse pounded in his ears like two large hummingbirds.

"You're right," Hans said boldly, "We are stubborn."

"So I take it this means you will not surrender."

"I will not."

The captain hesitated. He was only a few feet from the Dane now, a distance he could easily close within two seconds.

"Then prepare to die."

The battle commenced much faster than Anders would have thought possible. One moment, they were standing there talking like civilized people- the next, swords were flying at incredible speeds and the men's feet shuffled like dancers. Despite the captain's earlier scuffle, he seemed completely energized and determined to bring Hans down. The Danish sailor on the other hand, was rather drained and it showed.

At the sound of chiming metal, Anders was gripped with an overpowering urge to help his father. Grunting in pain, he used his arms to lift himself up, climbing to his feet. This new development startled the Borgia, who spared a second to throw a surprised glance his way.

This second was all it took for Hans to hurl his sword at the man's chest. However, his injuries caused him to stumble and the blade missed its mark, instead burying itself in the captain's shoulder.

The Italian cried out in pain and shock, backing away several steps to nurse his bleeding wound. Anders tried to advance to his father's position, but his first move snapped his leg once more and landed him back in the dirt, vision filled with black ink. The sounds of battle were still going strong as Anders propped himself up against the alley wall, watching the scene with wide, helpless eyes.

He almost sighed in relief. The Borgia's wounds were starting to cost him, and Hans seemed triumphant.

"Go away!" The sailor yelled, thrusting his weapon forward with such fury it was all the captain could do to jump aside, "Go away and leave my family alone!"

"Father!" Anders saw the opening too late. Hans had overstepped, leaving his side vulnerable. The Borgia easily dodged to the right and drove his sword straight through his opponent's flank, blade tip piercing through to the other side.

The world froze. Anders wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to do _anything _but watch as red blood slowly tumbled from the wound, splashing onto the ground. Hans choked, blue eyes wide with bewilderment, not pain. The captain then removed his weapon from the entry wound in Hans' side and slid the blade swiftly across his neck, spraying blood onto the walls of the alley.

Anders could do nothing. Nothing. His limbs were charged with adrenaline, but his mind could not muster a command. The only part of his body that seemed to work were his eyes. They continued to update him on every gruesome detail in slow motion. How Hans' sword fell from his hand, how he sank to his knees and fell, how he was all too still, lying in a pool of his own blood. How the Borgia captain turned and approached Anders himself, leveling the stained weapon at his own throat.

They waited there for hours. Hours, days, weeks, they held no meaning for the Dane as he sat pressed against the wall, staring silently at death. He felt the blade pushing into his skin, but did not process it. Anders lifted his eyes to the captain's, drinking in every detail. The man's expression was difficult to read as much of his head was covered by his red-plumed helmet. His black eyes were narrowed, and his face was set in a grimace. Blood was splattered over his cheeks and chin, but it was not his. _Go ahead, _Anders thought, _finish it. _

But he did not. No matter how much Anders wished for it, the Borgia soldier did not flick his wrist and end the boy's life. Instead, the silence was shattered by the sound of many footsteps approaching from both sides of the alley.

The captain's concentration broke and he blinked. Anders recognized fear for a moment, and then he was gone. The Borgia ran off, disappearing down one of the many different passageways that led away from the gory sight.

"Messer Larsson!" A familiar, high pitched voice penetrated Anders' senses, "Messer Larsson, I've brought-"

Then the voice stopped. The footsteps stopped as well. Suddenly, the alleyway was very crowded, and quiet. White shadows made their way across the Dane's field of vision, thankfully blocking out the red that was quickly spreading across the ground. Anders was hardly aware of someone sitting beside him, holding his hand and speaking to him in a language he did not understand. Not anymore.

Ezio sighed as he crouched beside the man's mangled body, bowing his head. Hans' eyes were closed for the last time by a gloved hand, and a tired sentiment.

"_Requiescat in pace…"_


	6. Future

The pain was distant now, only an echo of what had before been an erupting agony throughout his body. Anders was aware that the Assassins were leading him back to his cell of a room, catching him when he stumbled, but he didn't care. In an effort to reject the truth, the anguished Dane's mind shut down. He'd just barely crossed the threshold of his chamber when his limbs stopped working and his head sailed down into thick darkness. It took the combined efforts of Ezio and Lorenzo to carry him onto his bed, where the Master Assassin ordered his student to send for a doctor.

No one spoke until the beaked man entered several minutes later. It was the same doctor from earlier- an elder man who owned a shop on Tiber Island and was aware of the responsibilities that came with it. He spent a few moments examining the leg, remarking that it was a wonder it had not shattered completely under such strain. Ezio, Lorenzo, and Fiametta watched somberly as the healer worked, time inching past. After a while, he turned and informed them that Anders would probably not wake up for a long time, but that he was alright besides that.

"If the sleep lasts longer than two days, however," he'd said, "I would like you to fetch me. It could become very dangerous for him."

"Many thanks, signore." Ezio bowed lightly and handed the man a pouch of florins, which he took gently. After the doctor had left, Ezio approached the sleeping Dane with a pained expression under his hood.

"E-Ezio?" Fiametta stammered, horror and pity mixing within her, "What's going to happen to him now?"

"What do you mean, bambina?" The master asked her tiredly, hardly looking up.

Fiametta drew closer, swallowing her fear and facing her mentor determinedly, "With his father gone, how will Andarẻ return to…where ever he came from?

"When he recovers," Ezio told her, "We will help him charter a ship. It is the least we can do for a victim of the Borgia."

"Suppose he does not want to leave, maestro?" Lorenzo asked suddenly, joining the conversation.

Ezio sighed, "I do not know. It will be up to him to decide."

The three unwittingly cast their gazes down on Anders, eyes filled with sympathy and sadness. After a few moments of silence for the young man's past, Lorenzo spoke up again.

"I will return to the streets and recover his father's body," He said solemnly, "When he awakens, it will be given a proper burial."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Anders cracked his eyes open, thoroughly disappointed to still be in this bed, this room, under the Assassins' care. He knew he owed them, but he couldn't bring himself to feel guilty about it. In fact, the shock was beginning to wear off and had been replaced with an overwhelming emotion that Anders could not identify. It seethed through his pores- it made him want to scream and cry at the same time. He wanted to pound his fists and yell, but he also wanted to curl into a ball and sleep for centuries.

Mostly, he wanted to get away from this bed.

Though his body was numb and shaky, it obeyed his commands and he pulled into a sitting position. He got a glimpse of the window as he moved, judging the time as near or just after noon. How long had it been since his father's murder?

Anders had no plan. He didn't know where to go now, but he knew it wouldn't be home. He could not return to his mother and sisters without his father, couldn't see the look on their faces when he told them of the death. Wouldn't be able to stand the shame and embarrassment of admitting that he did nothing to stop it. No, Anders could not go home.

The strange, empty feeling followed him as the sailor climbed to his feet, his leg somewhat healed. This time, he limped heavily, being much more careful not to exhaust himself. At first he'd made good progress, exiting his room and stumbling down the hall, almost making it to the first stairway before he was interrupted.

"Andarẻ?" Fiametta's voice. The image of the short, dark haired girl triggered something distant in his mind, but Anders paid no attention to it. "Andarẻ, what are you doing? You shouldn't be walking!"

She ran up to him and tugged on his arm, pulling a painful hiss from him as he put pressure on his bad leg in order to stay balanced.

"Come on, Andarẻ," She said impatiently. He averted his eyes from hers and struggled to keep moving forward. "No, no, you can't leave yet. You still need to rest- here, let me take you back to your room-"

"No," Anders grunted, shifting out of her grasp, "No room." He tried to move forward, but it was hard to keep Fia off.

"I don't understand," She sounded very concerned, "At least tell me where you want to-"

Suddenly, he couldn't take it anymore. Something in Fia's touch activated the nameless emotion that had manifested deep within him and it surfaced, lashing out like a snake.

"Stop!" He slapped her hand away as she reached for him. The effort caused him to stagger back against the wall, almost falling. Fia moved forward again to help him-

"Stop it!" He shouted angrily, pressing his palms against the rough paint and regaining his stance, "Stay away!"

She just stared at him, eyes wide from his loud voice.

"Go away!" Anders felt his tolerance for the language slipping, and his Italian slowly gave way to enraged Danish, "_Lade mig vaere i fred! De har ikke vaeret andet end en plage hele denne gang, og jeg hader det!" (leave me alone! You have been nothing but a nuisance this whole time, and I'm tired of it!) _

He felt himself breathing heavily, his heart pumping ever faster. "_Du har odelagt alt," (you've ruined everything) _He paused, "_bara ga vaek!" (just leave me alone) _

As quickly as it had come, his rage subsided. Anders felt his face was hot, and his limbs were trembling. Before him, Fiametta stood like a statue, her face grey enough to match. As the seconds lengthened between them, Anders found himself welling with horrible regret.

Fiametta's eyes filled with tears. When she looked up at him, all Anders wanted was to hold her and apologize, but he didn't move. He couldn't.

"I only wanted to help." She croaked, taking a few shell-shocked steps back before turning and running, aiming to get as far away from him as she could.

"Fiametta!" He called after her, but she was already gone, her sobs bouncing off the walls. Anders groaned, kicking himself as he limped back to his room. She was right, of course. He did need to rest. And it didn't help that his father was gone now, and he was marooned in this strange land of foreigners. So far, all he'd managed to accomplish was disobeying the very people who'd tried to keep him safe, and wounding what could very possibly have been his only friend.

As Anders lay back down, he felt the snake within him uncoil and slither under a rock, taking the rest of his emotions with it.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"I understand you're upset, but folding your arms and scowling will not help you." Leonardo said patiently. Anders looked away, focusing on the Roman sunset out his window.

"I tried, Leonardo," Anders sighed, the language now German, "I really tried, but…It's too hard. Dealing with all this."

"I know, child," The inventor said warmly, scooting his chair in order to close the distance between them. "It's okay."

"What am I going to do?"

"There are many things," Leonardo began, "For one, I could use another errand boy- God knows Salai can't be responsible for everything I need – and secondly, there are several shops on Tiber Island that will accept-"

"No, Leonardo," Anders shook his head, "I don't mean in Rome."

The painter seemed lost, frowning.

"I want to go back home, but I know I can't." Anders explained, "I can't return to my family without…" He didn't finish.

"Ah," Leonardo frown smoothed out and pity flashed briefly in his eyes, "_Capisco…(I understand)" _The genius thought for a few more moments, and silence weighed heavily on them both. "If you do not wish to return immediately, there is one thing you must do."

"What is that?"

"You must continue your Italian studies."

"No." Anders said quickly, expression dark, "That language is savage and barbaric. I want nothing to do with it. "

"You had no qualms with it before," Leonardo pointed out. He nearly apologized, but assured himself he was helping the boy.

"I cannot stand it."

"Anders…" Leonardo inhaled, "You need to learn the language. You do not have any other options!"

The Dane was stubborn, that much was certain. Anders knew he wouldn't get anywhere without being able to speak Italian, and in the back of his mind he had to apologize to Fiametta. But every time he spoke a syllable, he felt himself back in that alley with the Borgia captain, or back on the pier where his father was arrested.

"And after you learn Italian," Leonardo continued, "what will you do then? Use it to get a job, perhaps? An apprenticeship? Maybe return home with some money or presents…?"

Anders suddenly began to realize something. He tuned out the Italian inventor's rambling and turned inwards, thinking. The more he remembered, it wasn't Italian that inspired those dark feelings of hatred in his heart. It wasn't the country, or the people. He wasn't angry with any of them, with Fiametta, or with himself. There was only one person who could draw out that level of rage and despair from him.

The man who murdered his father. The Dane knew then that the strange feeling coiled within him was planted by that Borgia soldier, and it would continue to fester until he did something about it. But what would he do…?

"Leonardo," Anders said, interrupting the painter and startling him.

"Yes?"

"I want revenge."

At that time, two knocks sounded throughout the chamber and then the door was opened. A tall man in white robes stepped in, carefully closing the entrance behind him.

"Andarẻ," Ezio turned to him, smiling, "_Vedo che si sente meglio (I see you are feeling better)."_

The sailor nodded vacantly at him and returned his attention to his visitor, "Leonardo, tell him."

"Tel him what?"

"I want revenge," Anders repeated, gaze hardening into a determination that nearly scared the engineer, "Ezio teaches young people like me to fight against the Borgia, correct?"

Leonardo did not seem happy about this, "I suppose," he admitted.

"I want to join him," Anders said, "I want to become an Assassin. And I want to avenge my father's murder." He paused, shutting his eyes. "Maybe…maybe then, I will finally be able to return home and look my mother in the eye."

"Anders, are you positive about this?" Leonardo asked him quietly, ignoring Ezio as he approached, confused, "the life of a killer is terrible and haunted. You can still back out now."

Anders shook his head, "I do not have a choice."

Leonardo sighed, leaning back. He knew he had been defeated. A few moments later, the older man stood and explained the whole situation to Ezio in brief Italian. He also mentioned that Anders' Italian lessons would continue from that day on in extreme depth, the intention being for him to become fluent within six months. Ezio absorbed the information sagely, his ungloved hand brushing his beard.

"Very well," He said, "The training of Andarẻ Larsson will commence as soon as he has recovered."


	7. Armed and Disarmed

_**(AN- my co-author and I are reunited after three months! I'm sorry for the wait! Here is a nice, fluffy chapter for you all. Thank you so much for your support!) **_

Three weeks later…

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The bag was only a slight burden in his long arms, and the Dane had other things to think about anyway. He walked slowly through the narrow roads of _Isola Tiberina_ and considered what was to be the day's main event: the first day of official Assassin training.

For the past month, Anders had done remarkably little. Rest had consumed much of his time, as well as warm food, which everyone assured him would make his weak body heal faster. What time he didn't spend in bed he spent running errands for his hosts.

This morning's errand featured a large bag of groceries, but it wasn't that heavy. Anders had already spent a large majority of his life as a sailor; his arms were accustomed to the lugging of weighty equipment. However the Dane tried to keep his mind from straying to those days as much as possible. It was at Hans' funeral that he renounced his sea-faring title.

Finally, he approached the hideout. The current lookout was a new guy, a _recluta _by the name of Manfredo. Anders nodded at him as he approached.

"_Buongiorno, _Andare_._" The recruit muttered. The dark-skinned man was his senior by at least ten years.

Anders' grasp on the Italian language had, although reluctantly, improved. Week by week, it was becoming easier to formulate sentences, and he could already understand the basic gist of a fellow's comment. Fluency was in sight, but it would still be a struggle to obtain.

"Ah, Andare!" The Dane turned his head to the direction of the caller. A pleasant woman, early thirties perhaps, greeted him with a smile, "Glad you're back. I'll show you where to put that." She gestured to the sack of food.

"It's alright, Fillipa," Anders replied, rolling his shoulder to better hold the bag, "I have done this before. But thank you for an offer."

"_Di niente,"_ The _guerriero_ shook her head, "Lorenzo is looking for you, though. He wants to begin the lesson already."

"_Grazie, amico. _I will visiting him after I deliver this."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The field was rather deserted. A broken down stable to the right, a path lined by a rotting fence to the left, and flowers and grass all around.

Lorenzo had requested that the recruits change out of their Assassin robes, so that to the passing Borgia patrol they appeared only to be a group of youths sparring for fun. The group itself consisted of Anders, Fiametta, Lorenzo- as the instructor- and two rather interesting men that none could seem to figure.

In appearance they were nearly identical. The only differences, and one would have to peer closely at them to note these, were that one bore a small mark above his right eye, and the other had a scar along his palm. Both were blessed with wild locks of curly hair the color of charcoal, olive tinted skin, and dark eyes.

During the ride to the training ground, Anders had dared to ask for an introduction.

"So you're the new boy?" One of the Assassins answered him.

"You're taller than we thought," The other added.

"Not that we thought about you much, mind."

"Are you any good with a lute? I've heard northerners make good musicians."

The blonde-haired man had been slightly overwhelmed, but before he could fish out the words for his reply, the look-a-likes spoke up again.

"So how old are you?" The inquiry continued.

"I'll bet you're one of those people who looks much older than they are…"

"I'd place you at…what, twenty-six?"

"I am nineteen," Anders managed to interject.

"Furbi!" Lorenzo's voice carried from the front of the caravan, "Both of you, stop babbling and answer his question!"

"Question?" One of the boys frowned, "What did you ask?"

"I merely wanted to knew your names." Anders repeated, swallowing.

"Easily done, my friend!" He grinned widely, "I am Sebastiano Furbi, and this is my brother, Stefano Furbi."

"Hello," Stefano smiled and waved shyly.

"We're twins." Sebastiano added in a whisper.

Anders raised an eyebrow.

However, Lorenzo's voice brought him back to the present with a jolt.

"Larsson!" The _Veterano _yelled, "Keep your head on the ground, lest you prefer it sailing through the air on a Templar blade."

"My apology, sir." Anders said quickly.

Lorenzo gave him a look, then returned to the lesson.

"Today I am instructing you in how to disarm an enemy!" As he spoke, the Assassin walked towards his horse and pulled a large bag from its saddle. "This bag," he held it up, and it produced a jingling sound, "contains our weapons. I want you each to take a falchion and line up."

The students did as they were told. Between Anders' nervousness, Fiametta's odd silence, and the Furbi twins' chatter, the mood was hard to distinguish. As the recruits waited for Lorenzo's next order, Anders gave Fiametta a quick glance. Her long hair had been tucked into a cap, and she wore a baggy pair of trousers along with a vest. From afar, she could easily pass for a young boy. Anders opened his mouth to say something to her, but Lorenzo chose that moment to proceed:

"I will need a volunteer to demonstrate the best way to disarm an enemy. Anyone?" The eldest Trietti announced.

Not a single hand was raised.

"Alright then," Lorenzo continued, "Larsson, up here, now."

Somewhat sheepishly, Anders strengthened his grip on his sword and stepped forward.

"Now," The instructor began loudly, "Andare, I want you to take a swing at me."

"What?" Anders blurted. He had only used a weapon a handful of times in his life; he didn't know how to pull a swing. What if he actually hurt the man?

Lorenzo, however, was less concerned, "Do you all note my posture? Where I am positioning my weight?"

Stefano snickered and Sebastiano answered mockingly, "Oh, we see where you've positioned your weight alright!"

"Shut up or it's _camera piatta _duty for both of you!" Lorenzo bit back.

Anders tapped the edge of his falchion uncertainly, "Er…_Messer _Trietti?"

"Hold your questions and attack me already, _gruelo!" _

Without further hesitation, the Dane shut his eyes and lunged forward, aiming the blade in a high arc with its destination Lorenzo's chest.

Immediately something grabbed his hand and twisted it, and Anders opened his eyes just in time to see Lorenzo's fist collide with his stomach, _hard. _

"Oof!" He gasped as the air escaped his lungs and he nearly dropped to his knees. When he recovered a second later, he realized the falchion was no longer in his possession.

"Any questions?" Lorenzo asked as he dropped the sword onto the grass.

None of the recruits could find the words to formulate one.

"Fine," The _Veterano _continued, "I will assign you each a partner-"

"May we-" Stefano began excitedly.

"_Furbi, shut the hell up!" _Lorenzo snarled and the twins lapsed into silent submission.

After a moment, the instructor regained his composure.

"Okay," he said, "Larsson and Furbi, Furbi and Trietti."

Sebastiano frowned, "How do we-"

"Dammit, Furbi, just follow instructions!" With that, Lorenzo turned his back, ending the opportunity for further conversation. Anders was preoccupied watching his friend stomp away when Stefano approached him.

"So you just got your _culo _handed to you, huh?" The boy snorted.

Anders' rolled his eyes, "How old are you, again?"

"Seventeen," The _recluta _replied.

"What?" Anders asked, brows arched, "But that's so young! You shouldn't be killing people!"

"First of all," The twin crossed his arms and scowled, "I'm only two years younger than you. Second of all, you shouldn't be telling me what to do. And third of all, shut up."

The Dane shrugged.

"Yeah, well," Stefano cleared his throat, "Are you gonna disarm me now or what?"

"Oh, right, of course." Anders shook himself and crouched into a fighting stance, though his stomach protested from its earlier beating.

Stefano took a few steps back and inhaled. Then, without warning, he charged at Anders, swinging his falchion wildly.

In all honesty, the Dane did try to remember what Lorenzo had taught him. But in that moment of panic, everything slid together and he ended up doing only what his instincts told him first. And they calmly persuaded him to step to the side and stick out his foot.

The Furbi's breath hitched as he flew through the air and crashed into the dirt. His arms scrabbled frantically to push himself up, but Anders' foot suddenly smothered his right hand, making it impossible to lift his sword.

"Oh," Anders grinned, though he wasn't usually one for irony, "Look who is just getting their _culo _handed to them."

"He-hey!" Stefano cried as he climbed to his feet, "You cheated!"

"Nice one, Stefano!" Sebastiano laughed from his own mock-battle a few yards over, where he had just finished disarming Fia for the third time, "Brilliant!"

"Shut up!" The indignant twin replied.

Training proceeded for another hour. Eventually they switched, and Stefano was charged with disarming the much larger boy, which to his credit, he did succeed in doing once or twice. While Anders had expected the work to be difficult and exhausting, it was also something else that he hadn't seen coming.

Fun.

Whenever he slid the weapon from his opponent's grasp, or knocked him to the ground and rendered him harmless, he felt a spark of triumph within him. That same spark, he realized, that had been snuffed out when he'd been powerless to watch his father's murder. When he won a battle, he was strong. He was the victor. Nothing could stop him. It was a pleasant feeling, to say the least.

And throughout the day, he managed to learn quite a bit about his partner as well. Stefano was a likable fellow, though a bit less mature than he ought to have been at times. He was usually less outspoken than his twin brother, but had a charming sense of humor. Anders enjoyed his company.

"Alright, that's enough for today," Lorenzo exclaimed, clapping his hands together, "I would like to add that some of you did a tremendous job."

"Thank you, sir." Anders panted, nodding in gratitude.

"Please hand me your swords and we can head back to _La Isola." _

On the ride back, Anders noticed that he had failed to keep track of time. It was nearly sunset, and they had arrived at noon. Still, with his body bruised and tired, he was fine with losing a few hours. Sleep tonight would be a blessing.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Meals at the Tiber Island base were not frequent. Most of the Assassins had residency in different districts of _Roma, _and only reported to the hideout for orders. And naturally, it was very rare for all of the recruits to be in one place at the same time- many would spend their dinner hours in Russia, or England, or some other far off country that night.

But for those few exceptions, the Tiber Island building did have a quarters wing. It was a storehouse, after all. Converting a few of those empty rooms into bedchambers was not too difficult, especially when four beds could fit to an area

Anders Larsson was one of those few exceptions.

The room he had recuperated in, he later learned, actually belonged to the Grand Master (When Stefano had told him this, the Dane turned a bright shade of red). The room Andare was to sleep in while undergoing training was…somewhat less spacious. He shared it with three other young men, though at the moment two were out on assignments. Though he had requested it, he had not been able to room with Stefano, and now had to face the merciless trial of making new friends.

But before he could get settled, a knock sounded at the door and a flustered servant girl reported that dinner was being served in the main hall.

(Again, the Dane was later informed that the _Isola Tiberina _compound had only one maid, and she chose the job of caretaking a storehouse complex over prostitution)

The main hall was in actuality, rather small. Anders was familiar with it at this point- it consisted of a high-ceiling room with a long table at one end. Usually the table was dripping with maps and notes and ink and, sometimes, Niccolo Machiavelli. However on dinner nights, the table was set with average silverware, and the benches were clear.

At the other end of a room there was a desk and a board nailed to the wall. The desk, Anders recalled, was a popular hangout spot when an older student was not using it for forgery, note taking, or some other written project. Normally it was fair property among the Assassins, as the Grand Master had his own office to work in.

The board was also open to whoever needed to use it. Lately, the Grand Master had taken to posting contests and challenges on it for the more advanced recruits to work on, but it was also used for notes and messages.

The meal tonight was nice, not too crowded and homely. Only six recruits were home out of eighteen. At the head of the table, the Grand Master sat with his advisor, Machiavelli, discussing something Anders could not quite grasp the meaning of. Further down was the lookout from the lookout from that morning, Fillipa the _guerriero, _the Furbi twins, and Fiametta and her brother, Lorenzo. Anders supposed he could include himself in the count as well, now that he was officially dwelling on _La Isola. _

At one point throughout the meal, the Grand Master asked the Dane how his training was going. The question caught him off guard, as well as the fatherly nature with which it was posed. Anders sheepishly replied that he was enjoying it, and that he was thankful for the Assassins' generosity and kindness. The advisor, Machiavelli, gave the young man a hard stare that sent shivers down his spine, but other than that the meal proceeded normally.

That night however, Anders found sleep escaping him. The bed was uncomfortable, but that wasn't what kept him awake. For some reason, no matter how exhausted he was, he just could not seem to fall into that beautiful blackness.

The normal procedure for this problem back in Denmark would be for Anders to slide out of bed, pull on his cloaks and go for a midnight stroll along the frigid forests. However, in Italy the night air was warm, and Anders preferred to travel to the compound's roof instead of the dirty streets below.

He had just begun to relax when suddenly a loud noise met his ears. It was the choked sobs of a young woman, along with the occasional snivel, on the exact same roof. Cautiously, Anders approached the sound and was surprised to see Fiametta sitting with her legs dangling off the building's side, over the Tiber River.

"Fiametta?" He whispered, so as not to startle her.

The girl's head snapped in his direction, and in the moonlight her puffy eyes seemed three times as large.

"An-Andare?" She hiccupped.

He took a few steps closer and sat down. Slowly, he asked, "What are you doing up here?"

"I…" She sniffed and looked down into her lap. "I…"

"Are somethings wrong?" He frowned.

"Andare, do you hate me?" She asked him tearfully.

The question seemed so ridiculous the Dane wondered if he had completely mistranslated it. Did he _hate _her?

"Fiametta, why would I be angry with you?" He wondered.

"You mean…you're not?" She asked, brows knit together in confusion. Another tear dropped down her cheek.

"Of course I am not." Anders replied, smiling awkwardly, "Why would I be?"

"Oh, Andare," Fiametta pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and quickly blew her nose. Then she continued, "It's just that… Ever since your _Padre _died, I've always felt…I just thought…It's my fault, isn't it?"

Anders raised an eyebrow, which almost seemed to make her angry.

"Don't you raise your eyebrow at me!" Fiametta spluttered, "It's my fault and you know it! If I hadn't abandoned you, that Borgia coward never would've come close! He never would've…" She started to choke up again, "…would've…"

Anders placed his large hands on her shoulders and forced her to look at him. He said calmly, "Fiametta. If you had not brought the Assassins when you did, that man would have killed me as well."

"But I came back too _late!" _Fiametta blubbered.

"You saved my life." Anders said quietly. "I don't hate you for that."

Silence.

"…I…" The young Trietti whispered, blue eyes thinking hard, "I saved your life?"

Anders nodded and smiled, carefully removing his hands from her.

"Wow…" She stared out into the lights of _Roma,_ awed. "I'm…I'm a lifesaver. I saved you."

"Yes, Fiametta." Anders agreed. "Now that this is over, why doesn't we both go back to sleep?"

She nodded distantly and hummed her approval. The Dane climbed to his feet and extended a hand to help her up. She took it gratefully, but as they started back to the stairway, she stumbled.

"Careful," Anders breathed as he caught her and helped her upright.

"Sorry," She muttered.

It was only then that he noticed the dark shadows under her eyes.

"Fiametta, have you been coming up here every night?" He asked, frowning.

The dark-haired girl shrugged, "I don't remember…I've been feeling really bad this past month, you know? Like…Like you hated me."

"Fiametta, we have discussed on this. I do not hate you."

The small woman looked up at him and smiled.

"I know." She said, and hugged him around the waist.

It was very awkward for the poor Dane, who began to blush. Perhaps he was not as acquainted with Italian tradition as he first thought. Fiametta seemed genuinely pleased to be hugging him, and he didn't have the heart to repel her.

Fiametta bade him goodnight at the bottom of the stairwell, and Anders was finally able to get some sleep, where he dreamed of swords, horses, hoods, and dark hair.


	8. Life goes on

Around a week after the sparring match, Anders had fallen quite comfortably into routine. He attended classes from the crack of dawn to sunset alongside his fellow _recluti, _and his instructor and growing friend, Lorenzo Trietti.

It was explained to Anders after he received his uniform that he would not be allowed his own hidden blade until he had acquired three weeks of experience. Once he had a hidden blade, he would officially become a disciple of the Assassin Order, and would be able to undergo his first assignment. The thought filled the Dane with a sense of excitement and anxiety; while he knew that the work would be difficult and dangerous, he couldn't help but long for the day it would come. It was within the wide halls of the _Isola Tiberina _compound that he had found purpose, and a second family.

However, no matter how much he enjoyed his lessons with his newfound friends, Anders still could not forget the reason he had accepted the Creed. It was on such an occasion that Anders sat at the desk in the main hall, staring at a piece of parchment while Stefano loomed over his shoulder.

The parchment read, so far, "_Kaera Mor,"- _Danish for 'Dear Mother', as he explained to his Italian companion.

But after he had so finely printed those words of intro, Anders found he had nothing to add.

"Just tell her you're safe," Stefano suggested, reading the Dane's troubled expression, "Tell her you and your _padre _are just holed up for a bit."

"My father is dead, Stefano." Anders said bluntly.

"She needn't know that," the recruit replied.

Anders turned in his seat to glare at Stefano, "You want me to lie to her? Is that how you do things in Italy?"

Stefano shook his head, "You don't understand. I don't think you should spring this news on a frail old woman. Wait until you can tell her in person."

Anders softened and fell back a bit, his gaze drifting to the table across the hall, "But that could be months. Years from now, even."

"Then talk about something else," Stefano said, "Or just tell her that you can't come home right away."

The blonde haired boy put down his quill and took the parchment in his hands. For a moment, he looked at the two words he had written so affectionately, then balled the paper up and tossed it away.

"No," he mumbled, "If I cannot speak honestly, I have nothing to say."

The next morning, Anders decided to begin his trip back to Denmark- starting with the execution of his father's murderer. After a brief interrogation by Machiavelli, Anders was allowed to visit with the Grand Master for a few moments.

"Andare," The older man greeted, not moving from his spot, "It's good to see you. I've heard your training goes well."

"_Maestro,_" Anders bowed and pressed his fist to his heart. Then he approached the desk and spoke: "I would like to make a request."

"And that would be…?"

"I want to find the man who killed my father," He stated, "It's time his death was avenged."

"_figlio mio,_" The Master sighed, "You do not yet possess the skills to take on a full assassination. Even if I knew the Borgia coward personally, I would be a fool to give you the contract."

Anders' grey eyes moved to the floor, but he kept the disappointment from his face. "…I understand."

"However," Ezio's tone encouraged the young man to look up, "If you give me a description, I can get one of my more experienced students to do some research."

"Really?" Anders asked, but then cleared his throat, not wanting to sound hopeful, "Ah, thank you, _Maestro." _

As soon as Anders had shared all he knew of the Borgia official, time forced him to prepare for his next training session. By now, the other recruits were rising; strapping on their boots and grabbing whatever food they could before daily business proceeded.

While he walked down the hall heading for the main stairwell, he bumped into Stefano, who had half his robe unbuttoned and his scarf pulled down.

"_Buongiorno, _Andare," The bed-headed boy muttered, blinking heavily as he tried to walk and fix his clothes at the same time, "Can you believe how early Lorenzo starts these lessons? I left Sebastiano with his pants on his head!"

Anders laughed, despite the inner tension that wasn't easy to cool, "Well, today is going to be one of the hardests. We're learning how to climbing buildings?"

Stefano ignored the slight slip in his friend's Italian and nodded, "Yeah, but don't worry about it. You're probably a natural."

The Dane had some response to that, but in the next five seconds it was completely buried. The two Assassins had reached the hideout's entrance hall, and just then a group of four walked casually through it.

Three were men, appearing rather ragged and tired. But the fourth one…

From the moment she walked through the door, Anders' eyes couldn't leave her. When she closed the entrance behind them, she pulled down her hood to reveal long, loosely tied locks of golden hair, the purest he had ever seen. When she turned around, she looked at him with two soft green eyes, the color of summer meadows. Her frame was tall and strong, and she walked with unchallenged grace. Her robes indicated that she was of high rank, and that her body was beautifully curved. As she and her party walked past, Anders felt his internal temperature rise a few hundred degrees.

In short, she was the most gorgeous girl he had ever seen.

"Right, Andare?" Stefano was saying, a frown bringing his two black orbs closer together. "Right? Helooooo?"

"What?" Anders snapped himself out of it, returning his attention to his shorter friend.

"Oh no," Stefano whispered, mouth wide in mock horror, "No, no, no! How could you give in so quickly?"

"Huh?" The Dane wondered, "What are you-"

"_Recluti!" _Lorenzo's sharp voice interrupted the two as he stepped past them. Anders had failed to notice he had even appeared.

"Furbi!"

"Present!" Both boys called. Again, Anders had to ask himself when Sebastiano had showed up- because there he was.

"Larsson!"

"Present," Anders said.

"And Trietti-"

Silence.

Then, hurried footsteps and heavy breathing.

"I'm here!" Fiametta yelled, panting as she pulled to a halt beside Stefano.

"Tretti," Lorenzo repeated to himself as he pulled something from his sash, "tardy."

"Oh please," Fia blew a raspberry, causing Stefano to giggle and Andare to frown.

"Alright, listen up," Lorenzo put down his note and gave them all a hard stare, "Today is a very important day, and it is imperative that you get all the time you need out there.

"Furbi boys- you two will be mastering a technique called the 'climbing leap'. I will demonstrate once or twice, then you will have the rest of the morning to figure it out for yourselves. You have until noon to perfect it.

"Trietti- you need to improve your stamina.

"And Larsson…I have a lot of ground to cover with you. But you will have mastered the basics of free-running by the time this day is through, do you understand that?"

"Yes, sir." Anders nodded.

"Then let's head up to the roof."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Through the course of that morning, Anders found his thinking fractured. One moment he would be sprinting across the rooftops, leaping the gaps between buildings with ease, and the next he would be threading his fingers through that beautiful golden hair. When his hands searched for footholds in the stone walls, he imagined them feeling out soft flesh instead of hard rock. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't get the image of the stunning young woman out of his head.

"Larsson!"

Anders started, almost losing his grip on the brick.

Lorenzo's voice did not sound pleased, "Why have you stopped moving?"

Slowly, the Dane remembered he was supposed to have reached the roof of his current base and easily completed the climb. As he pulled himself to his feet, he noticed Fiametta approaching from a few rooftops behind.

Lorenzo was beside him in a matter of seconds, "Not bad for a first timer. It took me thirty minutes to scale my first wall. But why did you stop in the middle?"

"I…" Anders blushed and looked away. What could he possibly tell him?

"It's alright to be nervous," Lorenzo said, hazel eyes emitting comfort for once instead of disappointment.

"I'm finished, Lorenzo!" The little Trietti gasped as she hauled herself onto their building's top, "Forty-two laps! Haha!"

"Perfect," Lorenzo nodded, "I need to go check on the twins. Andare," He turned, "Why don't you practice on this wall a few more times? Fia will watch you."

"Of course, sir." Anders agreed, inclining his head slightly.

"Why I am always with him?" Fia wondered loudly as Lorenzo jogged away, "I'm like his _infermiera _or something…"

A few minutes later the two recruits were doing well. It didn't take Anders long to understand scaling, as he had some previous experience playing around ship masts as a child. In fact, he found the two activities only a little different.

However, he still couldn't get that woman off his mind. So after about half an hour of practice, he approached Fiametta.

"Fiametta," He panted, brushing his forehead with his sleeve, "May I ask to you a personal question?"

"Yeah?" The blue-eyed girl's interest picked up and she stared at him intently.

Anders hesitated, "It's…sort of embarrassing."

"Andare, I've known you for a while. You can talk to me." Fia bit back her smile.

"Ok," The Dane grinned sheepishly, "I saw a girl this morning…"

"_Girl?" _Fiametta repeated disgustedly, jerking backwards. There was an awkward moment between them while she recomposed herself, and Anders continued:

"Yes," he said, "I saw her before training this morning."

"Who is she?" Fia's eyes narrowed.

"That is the thing," The Dane shrugged, "I was hoping you would know. It's been…bothering me."

"Why don't you describe her?" Fia asked, but it seemed to him as though her teeth were gritted. Had he done something to make her cross?

"She's rather tall," he began, "Long, blonde hair, green eyes, a truly outstanding figure-"

"-You can stop now, Andare." She said abruptly. At his questioning glance, she cleared her throat and admitted: "I can't say I know who you're talking about."

"What do you mean?" He frowned, "Stefano said that-"

"Those twins are jerks," She interjected quickly, "And notorious pranksters. Honestly, I think you're pretty vulnerable, hanging out with them."

"But-"

"Trietti! Larsson! Do you plan to protect _Roma _by talking the Templars to death?"

The two looked up at Lorenzo and quickly got back to work. The _veterano _nodded firmly and returned to his other students. All seemed to be well.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The next day was increasingly confusing. Although Fiametta had assured him later that no such woman existed in the Assassin Order, Anders' eyes fell upon the mystery girl at least four times before he'd even finished breakfast. She was truly a wonder of art, beauty, and grace, and he couldn't keep his mind from her. Whenever she even glanced his way, his face heated, his fingers tingled, and his pulse quickened as though he were still pounding away at the rooftops.

There were no early sessions that morning, and even if there had been, Anders was called into the Grand Master's quarters before he could attend them.

Upon entering, he found the Master to be absent. However, Machiavelli was there to receive him, to the Dane's dismay.

"We had one of our operatives search the Borgia prison yesterday," The older man explained, "but we found no one matching the description you gave us."

"Thank you, _signore," _Anders replied plainly, refusing to let his disappointment show before this particular Assassin.

"However," Machiavelli began, turning to the desk and pulling something from it slowly, "We did manage to recover these."

Anders watched curiously as the advisor handed him a bundle of papers.

"What are these?" He asked.

"Records," Niccolo replied, "of every arrest made in the last four months. Your father's should be there, along with the date and the persons involved."

Anders bowed deeply, "Thank you, sir Machiavelli. I will examine these and report what I find to Ezio Auditore."

The reading took some time, and Anders had only made it through half the stack of files when Stefano came to fetch him for their next training session.

Lorenzo had prepared a lecture for them on the basics of hidden blade maintenance and safety, and the recruits were instructed to take notes.

The lesson itself was not very long. While most of their sessions stretched on for over two hours, the lecture was merely an hour and half- the first thirty minutes consisting of a dissection of Lorenzo's own weapon, and the next hour discussing its history and significance today. Anders took detailed notes, though he doubted he'd ever use them, and his fellow students spent most of the class doodled and whispering to each other.

Lorenzo concluded around high noon, suggesting that the young Assassins use the rest of their time to practice parkour. Anders agreed on that, also inviting the twins to join him as he hadn't quite gotten the hang of free-running yet. He asked Fiametta as well, but for some reason her temper flared at him, and he backed away.

On the way to the roof however, he bumped into someone unexpected.

"I am sorry-" He began, but as he looked up his mouth froze.

"_C'est bien_,_" _Mystery girl muttered, brushing herself off. She paused for a moment and looked him over, "I've never seen you before." She stated.

"Oh well, we've met a few times, actually." Anders pointed out.

"Is that true?" She asked, green eyes narrowing.

"We've, um, we've never been introduced, though." Anders continued nervously, blush creeping across his cheeks.

"In that case," she cleared her throat, "My name is Charlotte de'Laois, but you may call me Carlotta." She extended a slim, petite hand.

"Anders Larsson," He breathed and took it with a grin.

"Andare, what's taking-" Stefano interrupted suddenly, then dropped his question when he noticed the two shaking hands, "Oh."

"Stefano!" Anders smiled, "Have you met-?"

"I didn't mean to distract you, _recluti,_" Charlotte said suddenly, "I'd best return to my duties. _Au revoir, _Anders."

And with that, she left.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"I still do not understand what is so terrible about it all." Anders muttered as he searched for a good hold on the brick above his head.

"No one gets close to the French girl, Andare!" Sebastiano called from below, "It's like a rule."

"Besides," Stefano added, "She's not interested in men."

"_What?" _Anders nearly lost his grip altogether. Slowly, though anxious thoughts circled his mind, he descended to the roof. His boots hit the ground and he quickly approached his two friends, "What do you mean, 'not interested in men?'"

Sebastiano shrugged and returned his attention to the picture he drew in the dirt, "Several other Assassins have tried to court her."

"Marco, Silvio, Teodore, Hernando," Andare turned his head to Stefano as the boy counted the names on his fingers in boredom.

"But she's never accepted any of them," Sebastiano shrugged, "She lets them charm her for a couple days, then BANG! Drops it on them that she 'isn't looking for a partner right now'."

"And all their hopes in dreams fly right out the window…" Stefano sighed, staring out to the setting sun with mockingly lowered lids.

"And a lot of Templars end up dead the next morning." Sebastiano said flatly.

"Wait," Anders frowned, placing his hands on his hips, "Are you telling me I don't even have a chance with her?"

Sebastiano opened his mouth to answer, but Stefano suddenly interjected, "Well, you might, actually."

Both his brother and his friend sent the Furbi a strange look.

Stefano proceeded, "If…If you were able to explain how deeply you cared for her…"

"You do care deeply for her, don't you?" Sebastiano asked with a sly smile. Anders scowled, and something in his gut twisted.

"I…I think so." He answered.

"Well then, come with me, good sir." Stefano smirked, taking the taller boy by the arm and pulling him around the corner, away from Sebastiano and the sunset.

"Now," Stefano inhaled, "A good way to start would be with a poem. Girls love poems."

"Ok," Anders said. He thought for a moment, then replied with: "_Dine ojne er smukke-" _

"-hey!" Stefano interrupted, "It doesn't do her any good if she can't understand it! Why don't you write the poem in_ Italian, _ok?"

"But…I'm not very great with Italian…" Anders said, biting his lip.

"You speak it, right? That'll be good enough for her! Now, tell me what you just said."

"Well…Basically I told her that her eyes are pretty."

"Alright…Go on…"

"Her hair is…Soft and golden, like stalks of wheat bending in the wind."

"Uh-huh…"

"Her skin is light and supple, like the first dusting of snow atop the hills in _min landsby." _

"And?"

"Her bosom is-"

Suddenly, the rooftop snickered. Anders paused, then marched around the corner and found Sebastiano with one hand pressed against his wild grin and the other clutching a pen. On the ground before him lay a piece of parchment, filled with Anders' proclamations of affection.

"Sebastiano!" Anders exclaimed.

"'_Her bosom'?" _The Italian quoted, rolling in hysteria as his laughter burst out, "_'Stalks of wheat'?"_

_ "_Stefano, what-?" but when the Dane turned around, he found that his other friend was giggling just as hard.

"You should've seen the look on his face!" Stefano squealed to his twin, and the two exchanged high-fives.

"I know!" Sebastiano cackled, "I got it all down! And I can't wait to find out what _mio landsbo _is!"

At that the brothers collapsed with hilarity.

"Friends," Anders muttered, humiliation coloring his face, "Is this some sort of a joke?"

"Only the greatest joke in _Italia!" _Sebastiano wheezed.

"Imagine Carlotta's reaction when she sees _this _perverted love note on her bed!" Stefano laughed.

"Admit it, Andare," Sebastiano looked up at him, eyes sparkling with tears, "It's really quite funny!"

The Dane snorted, "Well, I don't think so."

With that, he turned his back on them and made for the door that led to the compound's interior.

"Oh, don't be like that!" Stefano whined, but after a remark from Sebastiano that Anders couldn't hear, he was laughing again.

While he climbed down the stairs to his room, Anders couldn't help but feel like a big, stupid, clumsy idiot. He had fallen for the Furbi twins' prank, just as Fia had predicted. Why would his only friends embarrass him so? Did these Italians have no sense of honor, or dignity, or kinship? In Denmark, Anders never would've dreamed of humiliating his friends.

As he pulled open the door to his room, Anders began to feel lonely. Although the room was filled with Assassin recruits, the same troupe that had just returned from France, none of them paid him any heed. He undid his robes and climbed into bed, allowing his sore body to rest as his mind blackened.


	9. First Assignment

"Anders Larsson, Fiametta Trietti, Stefano and Sebastiano Furbi," The Grand Master began solemnly, "The day has finally come for you to join your fellow Assassins in the fight for _Roma._"

Anders shifted nervously beside his companions. He had been waiting so long for this, but now that his new hidden blade was securely locked around his arm, he was forced to consider what exactly this was. The Grand Master gave them each a moment to feel their weapons' weight, touching the needle-sharp edge that jutted out from beneath their palms. Then he continued:

"As full-fledged recruits, you are now ready to receive your first assignment. Do you all wish to proceed?"

The new Assassins shared one determined glance before Anders spoke up, "We are ready, _Mentore.__" _

"_Molto__bene,__" _Ezio inhaled, and then started to explain, "We have a supporter in the _Antico_ district; he is a blacksmith and a large donor of swords and armor. For weeks now he has been harassed by a gang of local thugs. I want you to find out who has been troubling him and put an end to them. Understood?"

"Yes, _Maestro,_" The students replied.

"I can give you the supporter's address, but little else. The rest will be entirely up to you, _Assassini._ Hold the Creed in high regard amongst yourselves as you work: hide in plain sight, stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent, and do not compromise the Brotherhood.

Lastly, I have ordered one of my more experienced students to keep an eye on you all. She has been instructed to intervene only if one of you is placed in a life-threatening situation.

You are dismissed."

The recruits left in an organized fashion, but as the sun was still high in the sky, they were eager to begin their mission. Soon after eating a quick lunch, they gathered in the main hall.

"Alright," Stefano began quietly, "Before we start, I think we should appoint a leader."

"Agreed," Anders nodded, "But how do we choose?"

There was silence as three pairs of eyes slowly focused on the Dane's deep expression.

"Me?" His eyes widened, "Why?"

"You're strongest," Sebastiano admitted grudgingly, "Stronger than me, at least."

"You're almost always calm," Stefano pointed out.

Fiametta didn't give a reason. In fact, she'd looked sort of lost since the initiation, almost like a child who'd suddenly been given an adult's workload. When Anders looked at her, she only nodded firmly.

"If you are all so certain," Anders said slowly, "I'll do it. Now, Fiametta- do you have the address?"

"I do," The girl confirmed, pulling a piece of parchment from her sash.

"Good. I want you to write down any information we come across concerning our supporter and his oppressors. Now," Anders paused to give his crew a small grin, "Let's go pay this poor man a visit."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

During the long ride to the _Antico_ district, the twins held a discussion about whom the Master had appointed to watch them. Anders was hardly listening, but they appeared to have narrowed it down to two different women: Carlotta (_Charlotte,_the Dane reminded himself), and someone else named Lucia, whom he was not familiar with.

Fiametta pointed out a small house in the distance, indicating the enthusiast's residence, and Anders had to shush the two young men in order to hear himself think. He hadn't yet figured out what exactly he planned to tell the afflicted benefactor when they met him.

Soon enough though, the horses pulled to a halt and Anders found himself in front of a doorway he'd need to bend over to walk through.

He knocked roughly on the wood door and waited for a few moments.

"Who's there?" A young woman's voice called out, afraid.

"Er," He began, "We need to speak with Ernesto Tolo. Please."

"Who are you?" The voice demanded.

Anders winced, "We are here to help him with some…harassers?"

There was silence on the other end, then hurried footsteps.

"Nice, Andare." Sebastiano commented from the horses.

However before the Dane could think of a comeback, the door opened and a hand grabbed his arm, tugging him inside.

"Come, quickly!" An older man hissed.

As soon as all the Assassins were indoors, the stranger hastily closed the entrance.

"Follow me," he muttered as he led the group down a narrow hallway that led to a sitting room. Anders looked around as they walked, and found that the family was not as wealthy as it seemed from the outside. The walls bore no art, the furniture was old and worn, and the rooms were cramped.

Once in the main room, the man gestured for them all to take a seat at the dimly lit table.

"I trust Ezio Auditore sent you?" He asked.

Anders nodded, "I am Anders Larsson. We were instructed to help you with some local persecutors."

The man snorted, "Persecutors indeed. I am Ernesto." He extended a hand.

Anders shook it, examining its owner warily. Ernesto was not a large individual, but he had strong arms. It was no wonder he was so good at his work, yet he gave off the impression that he did not often stand up for himself. His face was round and bore many wrinkles around the mouth and forehead. His eyes were a dull grey color, and seemed sunken into his skull. Ernesto wore a cap over what was left of his stringy dirt-colored hair.

"So what has been the trouble?" Stefano inquired, folding his hands on the table.

Ernesto sighed, "I have five daughters, _signori._When I refused to sell weapons to a group of young men at low cost, they were threatened. That was some time ago."

"What can you tell us of these men?" Sebastiano said suddenly. Inwardly, Anders drily wondered what exactly it was that they thought a leader did. From the corner of his eye, the Dane noticed Fiametta brushing a lock of dark hair from her eyes as she scribbled quickly on a piece of paper.

The older man shrugged, "They are…Average looking. And they blend so easily with a crowd that I cannot even describe them to the local patrols, though they would not listen to me if I could. There are five of them, and I know the name of their ringleader: Ottoviano Brulli. He is tall, dark haired, green eyed…But I doubt you'll be able to catch him with that alone."

"And how exactly have they threatened your daughters?" Anders asked.

"A few days ago," Ernesto began, "my youngest child, Teresa, was late coming home from the market. I went out looking for her, and found Ottoviano's gang dragging her through the streets, screaming. I chased them off, but Teresa is still afraid to go outside. She appears unhurt, but…" He trailed off.

"_Intesi,__" _Anders said quietly, "Do you think we could have a word with her?"

"No," Ernesto replied, shaking his head, "I…I would prefer she not meet with any more strangers this week."

"Poor thing," Fiametta commented sadly, eyes focused on the pattern of the table's wood.

"Ernesto," Sebastiano said, "Do the men harass you at your shop?"

"Yes, they do," He nodded distantly, "In fact, they come nearly every day now…"

"Then tomorrow we will come as well," Anders suggested, "We will follow them a ways, then convince them to leave you alone."

"Convince how, _messere?__" _Ernesto raised his eyebrows, "Forgive my blunt words, but you all seem barely older than children. Do you really plan to kill them?"

"If that's what it comes to," Anders answered grimly, "These criminals must be punished for their actions."

"It's not just hocking and threatening, you know," Ernesto began, somewhat angrily, "They've done more. According to several other merchants in the area, I've been brutally slandered, and business has reacted just so. My shop has been vandalized often, and many a day I would enter to find my prize hammers either missing or in pieces. I have also received threatening notes from them, I have some of them-"

"That's enough for now," Stefano's hand raised itself slightly, "Thank you for your time, _Messer_Tolo."

"I have all the information recorded, Andare." Fiametta reported, dutifully holding up a parchment filled with miniscule handwriting.

"Very well," The old man replied, "Then I will see you tomorrow, _signori?__"_

"No," Anders told him, "But we will see you, do not worry."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0- 

None of the novices could really claim they woke up rested the next morning. All four were teeming with energy as they approached the busy plaza that housed Tolo's shop in full uniform. Each was armed with a hidden blade and sword, with the exception of Fiametta, who only carried a knife.

Anders called them in for a meeting under a shady tree before they advanced.

"Alright," He announced, "You all see the blacksmith. We're going to surround him, in a square formation. We've all blended into the background before in training, and that's what I want you all to do now. Do not take your eyes off that shop- once the gang members appear, I'm going to follow them. And you are all going to follow me. Understood?"

"Yes, sir, Andare!" Fiametta saluted.

The twins rolled their eyes, "We're behind you, _maestro.__" _

_"_Good, now let's do this."

And so the recruits folded themselves into the flow of daily life. The twins joined a group of ladies passing by, offering to help them carry their baskets. Fiametta found a nice bench to sit on and review her notes. Meanwhile, Anders approached the blacksmith casually.

"_Buongiorno,__Messer_Ernesto," Anders greeted him with a small wave.

"Ah, my little _assassino,_" The smithy replied, despite Anders towering a good ten inches above him. "I assume you did not come alone?"

Ernesto waited for Anders' reassuring grin before continuing, "After you left last night, I took the liberty of…hastening our friends' arrival. Suffice it to say my tormentors will either be here momentarily, or have forfeited their mothers' honor."

The Dane chose not to comment on that, "They will not trouble you after today, _signore._"

"I hope so, boy." The old man sighed and then returned to his work.

Anders left the steel-vendor and began to look around. The plaza was modest, yet homely and welcoming. A main road led down to the Roman countryside and connected the small marketplace with the next village. As his eyes wandered, Anders realized that he could not find a single one of his fellow recruits amidst the din. Maybe they were something of a team after all…

The young Assassin wandered towards a bench and sat himself down between an elderly woman humming quietly to herself, and a red-clad scholar with his nose caught in a large book. He had a perfect view of the blacksmith. All that was left was to wait…

As Ernesto had predicted, Anders was not put off long. Within the hour, the man identified as Ottaviano and two others, both armed, approached the shop.

Something didn't seem right, the Dane related. Ernesto had mentioned that the gang held five members…

"Good day, Ernesto," A sharp voice announced.

The smithy did not reply, only turned his back from the stall's front and worked with his hammers.

"My friends and I were just thinking about what you said yesterday," Ottaviano continued, anger evident in his tone, "And we've decided you should recant."

Again, Ernesto had no response.

"Do not ignore me, old man!" The thug snapped, pounding a fist on the stone counter.

There was silence for a moment as the severity of Ottoviano's outburst sank in. Then, Ernesto sighed.

"You're right, Ottaviano," he admitted, wiping his grimy hands on a nearby rag. "I apologize. Sincerely."

Anders had to give the man credit- he knew how to lie.

Ottoviano's lip curled, "Apologies are not enough. I want a favor from you, Tolo."

"And what would that be?"

The thug considered for a moment. Then, he pointed to a beautifully crafted dagger on the stall's back wall. The weapon was finely made, and gold swirls decorated its hilt.

"I want that knife."

"That?" Ernesto repeated, surprised, "But that thing is useless in combat! Surely you would like a more-"

"Shut up, _vecchio!__" _Ottoviano interrupted, "Give it to me now, and perhaps I won't run it through one of your children on my way home!"

The older man shook his head, defeated. Slowly, he reached up and removed the exquisite dagger from its perch and placed it on the counter.

Ottoviano took it and slide it under his belt, admiring the way it pressed against his dark tunic.

"Your words are forgiven, Ernesto." The thug said with a smirk, "Come, _amici._We're done here."

Anders watched as the group moved out, heading west. For a moment, his grey eyes locked with Ernesto's and sent a message. _Don__'__t__worry,_he thought, _I__'__ll__get__it__back__for__you._

Hoping desperately that his fellow recruits had his back, Anders fell into step behind the ruffians. He pulled his grey hood tighter around his face, hoping to become completely indistinguishable. The route they were taking was a very common one, and it almost insulted the Dane that they were so casual, as if they knew no one would have the bravado to stand up to them. Perhaps they had dealings with the local guards that allowed them to act this way.

The road wound a little, but in the end it led to an empty-looking building overlooking the highway to the Coliseum. Anders waited until the laughing partners were inside to signal his companions.

"Andare," Stefano whispered as soon as he was close enough, "I thought there were five of them."

"There are," Fiametta confirmed, "They must still be inside."

"Either way, we know for sure that those three are," Sebastiano frowned, tracing his jaw with thumb, "perhaps if we dispose of them, the rest of the group will disperse? After all, Ottoviano is the leader."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Anders said warningly, "We could very well be walking into a fight. I suggest that I go in first and speak with them. If I need help, I will signal you all to barge in. That way we have the element of surprise."

"But what if they do something to you?" Fiametta argued, "Something that stops you from signaling?"

"I'll be fine," Anders assured her, "And you will all be right behind me."

"I'm not sure I like this plan, Andare," Stefano commented worriedly.

"I'll go with you." Fiametta said, stepping forward. Anders frowned at her- the girl's frame was tiny compared to his, hardly even perceivable as a threat. "That way you won't be alone."

Anders sighed, trying faintly to dissuade her. "Is that what you really want?"

"It is," She nodded firmly, "Now let's do this."

A large part of him protested her decision, but Anders convinced himself to respect her as a fellow Assassin. The Dane moved forward and wrapped his fingers around the door handle, Fiametta at his back. He took a deep breath, then yanked it open and stepped inside.

Fiametta had been right- the gang's remaining members were indeed inside. They were all sitting around a table at the far end of the room, eating what appeared to be a meal of bread and salads. When the Assassins entered, they all looked up.

"Good day, gentlemen." Anders greeted them, fingers resting anxiously on his hidden blade mechanism. Fiametta took her place beside him unwaveringly.

"What the hell is this?" One of the men yelled.

Before he could reply, Fiametta spoke up loudly, "Your just reward! We know all about how you extorted Ernesto Tolo this morning!"

Anders pinched her arm in an attempt to gain her attention, but Fia would not stop there. She placed her hands on her hips and scowled menacingly.

"Who knows how many others you've done the same thing to? But the point is; it won't happen again! Say your prayers, _criminali,_we're here to put you down!_" _

"Fiametta, that's enough!" Anders hissed at her. He didn't want these men riled up; the fight was going to be difficult enough as it was.

First chuckles, then laughter sprouted throughout the room. Ottoviano stood from his chair and approached the bold female Assassin.

"You're here to punish us, eh, _tesora?__" _He grinned, "How cute."

"My friend is right, Ottoviano." Anders frowned and stood straighter, taking pride in the fact that he was taller than the thug as well. "We are here to put a stop to your bullying ways."

"Oh really?" One of the men from the table challenged, "Prove it!"

Anders nodded and Fiametta ripped a throwing knife from her belt, tossing it through the air and straight at the contender's ear.

And it was in that moment that the assignment failed.

Both Assassins had intended for the throwing knife to miss. It was just a warning shot, meant only for show. However instead of burying itself in the wood beside his head, the knife impaled the man's left eyeball, killing him instantly.

Awed silence dominated the room as all turned to watch the thug's bloodied face thud softly against his plate. No one moved.

Until Ottoviano whipped out his blade, yelling: "_Cagna__cazzo!__" _

He made to slash the girl's neck, but Anders quickly threw himself between them, catching Ottoviano's arm with his hand.

"Sebastiano, Stefano!" Fiametta screamed, pulling on her own weapon. The twins were not far behind and managed to kill one of the ruffians on their way in with two well-placed throwing knives.

From then on the room was chaos. The Assassins outnumbered their targets, but the thugs were more experienced in the art of swordplay. Anders was now fending off two attackers, while the twins attempted to distract the others, who were launching themselves at Fiametta.

For Anders, it was all he could do to block the thrusts as they came. It hardly registered that his shoulder was bleeding, or that there was a cut across his cheek from a grazing sword tip. Ottoviano's blade flew angrily at him, quickly deteriorating his defense. Suddenly, his ankle failed him, and the Dane caught himself slipping downward. Gasping, he stabilized himself on one knee, but when he looked up it was his opponent's sword that met his eyes, hurtling towards him.

Suddenly, Ottoviano cried out in pain. To his own shock, Anders realized that Fiametta had plunged her hidden blade through the shoulder wielding his sword, causing his blow to miss. The thug staggered back, cupping his wound as blood spread between his fingers.

Fiametta flicked out her blade once more to deliver another stab, but Ottoviano grabbed her wrist and wrenched it viciously to the side, snarling. Anders climbed to his feet in time to see his enemy bashing Fiametta across the head with the flat of his sword, which was trembling in his grip.

Anders activated his own hidden blade, but his first attack missed and he received a strong punch to the face. Stars burst before his eyes as he stumbled backwards, and he was dimly aware of one of the twins' voice, howling in pain. Just as his sight began to clear, Ottaviano hit him again, knocking him to the ground. The Dane groaned as his head smacked against the floorboards and blood spilled from his nose. Ottaviano's boot was only a few inches from his face.

Time seemed to slow, just like it did that evening Hans died. Anders realized that he had failed. His friends, who had counted on him to lead them, were crying out in agony. His master, who had trusted him to complete this one task, would never see him again. Anders would never make it home, never watch the seas of Denmark roll to meet the sunrise. And his mother and sisters…

No.

He wouldn't let it end here. He would see them again.

Which was why when Ottaviano's sword came down to slice his jugular, Anders rolled to the side, swiping the boot next to his face clean off the floor. Ottaviano's breath hitched as he lost his balance and tumbled downwards, where the Danish Assassin scurried on top of him and thrust his hidden blade through the coarse skin of the thug's neck.

Anders watched as the man choked and his eyes bugged in and out. Blood flowed from the neat gash, soaking his hands and blade. And then Ottoviano Brulli's life ended.

A few moments later, Anders stood. When he took in the scene it had changed drastically. Three bodies besides Ottoviano's littered the floor, and a white-hooded figure was burying its sword into the gut of the last man, who shrieked in pain and horror. At first he'd thought it'd been one of his fellows, but the recruits all bore grey hoods…

"What are you doing?" A familiar, melodic voice shouted at him. The figure turned to reveal stunning green eyes and a few curling locks of golden hair, "Help him!"

Anders followed Charlotte's gaze to find Stefano motionless on the dirt floor, a pool of blood staining his uniform. Beside him Sebastiano sat on his knees, a look of complete and utter panic on his face.

"What happened?" The Dane asked, stumbling over quickly.

"I-I-I don't know!" Sebastiano stammered, "he won't answer me; something's wrong with his leg!"

A quick glance revealed Stefano's leg to be completely mangled, with a deep slash across its front and his foot resting at an unnatural angle.

Anders gathered the twin's head into his arms and shook him.

"Stefano!" He called, "Stefano, wake up!"

Soft footsteps informed Anders that Charlotte stood behind him.

"Stefano, please…" Sebastiano whispered, staring wide-eyed into his twin's pale face, "please wake up."

"It's no use," Charlotte commented, "You need to find him a doctor."

"I'm not leaving." Sebastiano insisted, not looking up from Stefano's blank expression.

"I'll find one," Anders stood, slightly dizzy. Everything was happening so fast…Could Stefano really be dying?

On his way to the door, Anders found Fiametta leaning against the wall.

"Fiametta," He said, catching her attention, "Come with me- we need to find a doctor for Stefano."

She nodded strangely, and the Dane cocked his head and watched as she mumbled the words, "_Va__bene__…" _

The female Assassin took two steps towards him before collapsing.

Acting reflexively, Anders caught her in his arms and lowered her to the floor, alarmed. "Fiametta!"

"What's happened?" Charlotte hurried over.

"Uh…" Fiametta moaned. "I'm…Fine."

"Her head," Anders ran his fingers through her hair- they came out bloody. "Her head is bleeding. Severely."

"_Putain__merde,__" _The Frenchwoman swore and crossed her arms. "I will find a doctor and bring him here. Watch over the wounded and do not let Trietti fall asleep. Head injuries are especially tricky."

"Is that…Carlotta?" The younger girl asked faintly as a whirl of white robes fled the building.

Anders did not answer. He lifted her small body and carried her the short distance across the room, laying her beside Stefano. Sitting next to her, he tried to ease Fiametta into a sitting position, propping her up against his chest.

"Ouch…" She muttered. "Andare…My head hurts."

"I know," He said quietly, wrapping his arms around her waist to keep her steady, "Fiametta, listen to me. Don't go to sleep."

"Go to sleep?" She repeated fuzzily, "Um…Alright."

"No, _don__'__t!__" _The volume of his voice shook her and she straightened a little. "Just talk to me, Fiametta. Let's have a conversation."

"Stop calling me 'Fiametta'…" She ordered weakly.

"Why?" Anders asked, "It's your name."

"Yes, but…" She coughed, "My friends call me 'Fia'. Everyone calls me 'Fia'."

"Really now…"

"But I suppose you're just…weird like that." The dark-haired girl added.

"Am I?"

"Yes, but… I like you like that."

"What?"

"I…" She hesitated for a moment, "I like you, Andare. I really…I like you."

"Fiametta," His hard features softened, "I don't know what to-"

"Andare…Just…" Trietti stopped, and the Dane tightened his hold on her as she started to go limp.

"Just what? Keep talking, Fia!" He urged her.

"Just…Call me…" She paused again, and when she picked up again he heard tears in her throat, "…Can't think…"

"Fia?"

Fiametta sighed.

"_Fia?__" _Anders repeated, horror turning his veins to ice, "_Fiametta!__" _

There was no response.

When Anders looked up, he met Sebastiano's empty gaze.

"They're dead, Andare," He whispered, "They're both dead."


	10. ANNOUNCEMENT

Hey, everyone!

I'm really sorry about this, but after several months of completely ignoring my emails/any efforts to reach her, my co-author has given this story up for dead.

There is a map for the storyline, but I just don't have the time to write it anymore (at least not by myself). So for now this story is on hiatus.

If anyone out there is interested in becoming my new co-author for **The Dane and the Flame, **please PM me! I would love to hear from you.

Thank you all for your time and patience,

iguana.


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